


Omega Rising: Part 2

by SapphoAndThamyris



Series: The Avengers Ultimate A/O AU [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Pepper Potts, BAMF Nick Fury, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Sharon Carter (Marvel), Bonding, Bucky Barnes Feels, Civil Rights, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Drama & Romance, Epic Battles, Epic Love, Even if you don't like ABO usually you might like this, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Tony, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Manipulative Nick Fury, Mating Bites, Multi, Nick Fury Knows All, Nick Fury is Not Amused, Omega Steve Rogers, Other, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Power Dynamics, Protective Pepper Potts, Romance, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Smut, Snarky Tony, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Stony - Freeform, Strike Team Delta, Tony Angst, Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 316,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoAndThamyris/pseuds/SapphoAndThamyris
Summary: Steve Rogers is a soldier, a patriot, and an omega in a world where his status makes him a second-class citizen. He never asked to be a hero. But when the world pushed him, he pushed back. Unfrozen from cryo after 65 years, he awakens to a world where not much has changed, and finds himself assigned to monitor the son of the man that made him: Tony Stark.This epic work follows Steve Rogers and Tony Stark as the two grow together: as leaders, as Avengers, and as human beings, their lives and fates inextricably entangled.Part 2 of Omega Rising covers 2010-2011 (the period between Iron Man 2 and The Avengers), during which time Steve acts as an agent of SHIELD and spearheads an omega civil rights movement following a HYDRA capture.Updates Thursdays and Sundays. More notes inside.





	1. Assasination Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 2 of Omega Rising! This part of the series covers the time between Iron Man 2 and The Avengers. In this segment, you'll witness: A STRIKE Team Delta mission! A HYDRA capture and a daring escape! Even more Bucky! And so much more!
> 
> If you're just joining us, you might want to check out Part 1 first. If you don't want to read that, however, here's what you missed: Tony, an Alpha, and Steve, an omega, are bonded. The year is 2010. Steve suspects that the Winter Soldier is Bucky, his estranged ex-mate from the 20th century. And Steve is looking forward to the future, which he plans to spend working for SHIELD and pushing for omega rights.
> 
> There! You're all caught up!
> 
> In part 2, we plan to have shorter chapters but update biweekly (Thursdays and Sundays). You're welcome! If you have feedback for us, we are always excited to hear from you. You can e-mail us or message us here on AO3 and we will do our best to answer questions.
> 
> Thanks for your time!

The morning of the White House event Steve got up early to jog off his frustrations, finding a sleepy Tony in bed next to him. He kissed his cheek and got a grunt in response and smiled. "I'll see you at breakfast," he breathed softly against his cheek before rolling out of bed.

He had not spoken to President Ellis since he had been unfrozen.  Their exchange had been brief; Steve had stood on a stage as the president said, "Welcome back, Cap," for the cameras, and that was that.  Steve was looking forward to a real meeting.  He'd never much liked politicians but, then, he was willing to give Ellis a chance.  After all, this was the 21st century.  Maybe things had changed.

Just as Steve was getting changed, he got a call. It was Agent Hill.

"Director Fury would like to meet with you this morning, Captain."

"Hill, this isn't a good-" protested Steve as he hopped around Tony's walk-in closet, getting his sneakers on.

"He _insists_."

Oh boy, Steve thought. They hadn't really spoken since Tony's simulation, not more than a few words at the most. He didn't know what this was about. Maybe it was about Bucky. Steve hadn't had any more dreams, which had lulled him into a (false?) sense of security. Maybe he was just being silly. Maybe it was just HYDRA messing with his old bond.  _Just_ HYDRA.  Ha.

But whatever it was, he wouldn't let it get to him. And unless a threat reappeared they was no need to trouble anyone with it, especially Fury.

"Where?" Steve asked and rubbed at his temple with the heel of his palm.

"He said your old apartment?"

"Okay. Got it, thanks, Maria. I'll be on my way."

Steve sent Sam an apology text canceling their plans to go running, then moved to change into his (now usual) jeans, tee and jacket. Tony was dead asleep as he left but he did leave a note on the bedside.

_Got a meeting with Fury today (so ignore any bad bond feelings, probably just me getting pissy). Then I have training with Nat. If I don't catch you beforehand I'll see you at dinner, should be home before then but if I'm not then don't worry._

_Lots of love, Steve_

He had to reassure Tony ever since he'd decided to watch finding Nemo. Tony had rushed upstairs in a flurry of panic only to find Steve sobbing over a children's movie. They were still acclimating to being bonded, feeling each other's emotions.

Steve loped down into the garage and took bike over to his apartment. It was a little ways away so it was about ten by the time he arrived.  It was a pleasant day; Steve drove without a helmet, enjoying the wind in his hair  He was hungry but he knew there was an unopened box of cereal left in one of his cupboards still. Steve took the steps two at a time, forgoing the lift. When he got there the door was open. He pushed it open to see Fury sat at his dining table. His apartment felt so small after living in Tony's for so long.

Steve stepped inside wordlessly and closed the door behind himself before leaning his back against it. "So," he sighed. "What is this about?"

* * *

 Tony woke up just before noon and rolled into Steve's side of the bed, like he did every morning.  It smelled like Steve.  He groped around on the bedside for Steve's usual note; he'd kept every one and they were starting to fill up a desk drawer in his shop, but for some reason he couldn't stand to throw them out.

The last few weeks had slogged past with a certain shine to them.  Tony knew Steve was restless; the guy was up at dawn every day, working out, but Tony was content to play around in his shop with the new suit and ignore as many e-mails and phone calls as possible.  He got a brusque letter one week after the battery of SHIELD tests informing him that he was approved for active duty (or rather, that Iron Man was approved for the Avengers initiative) and to await further instructions.  That was it.  No more, no less.

He had no idea what sort of instructions he was awaiting on.  He saw Sam and Natasha regularly, but Clint and Phil had fallen off the face of the planet, and Tony noted (with begrudging admiration) that SHIELD had blocked any updates on Project PEGASUS.  Whether they were taking Steve's suggestion and writing it down with pencil, or had simply put it on a server that was disconnected from the web, was anyone's guess.  But he no longer had access and frankly he didn't care because he was too absorbed in the idea of a self-assembling suit... not to mention his omega.

While Steve's friends had been slow to trust Tony, Tony's friends were delighted with Steve.  Happy and Pepper's initial upset that Steve had lied was quickly overshadowed by the incredible amount of stability Steve had brought to Tony's life.  Tony's drinking was still heavy, but not nearly as bad; he was still a hopeless flirt, but there were no more one-night stands.  In fact, following his approval for SHIELD work, his only major indiscretion had been buying Steve an eagle for his his birthday.  (With Pepper's help, they had taken Liberty to a wildlife sanctuary.  Tony had pouted over it for several days before bitterly admitting that a live, fully grown bald eagle had perhaps not been the best gift idea, and promised to get Pepper's help next year.)

"Welp, Jarv... let's get to work," said Tony perkily, rolling out of bed and loping downstairs toward the shop.  He was glad Steve had left the note; even after a month, he was still getting used to the weird feeling of another person's emotions.  Especially when one of them was tired or over-emotional, it could affect the other.  And considering both of them were prone to flashbacks and night terrors, it was helpful to know when to expect pangs of fear or sadness so that they could handle it.  Knowing that any anxiety he felt over the course of the day could be ignored would really improve his productivity; he worried about Steve.  But not today.  Today was going to be perfect.

* * *

 "...you don't look especially happy to see me, Captain.  If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a chip on your shoulder," said Fury, fixing Steve with his usual one-eyed glare.  In July, Fury's long coat and gloves seemed out of place.  He looked like an assassin who hadn't yet perfected the art of blending in.

Steve didn't confirm or deny his feelings, so Fury continued.

"As you know, we've been conducting a search through Europe for Barnes.  So far, we've turned up empty.  But since we know, through you, that he's alive, we'd like to recruit you to help us find him.  Alexander Pierce, who's a member of the World Security Council, asked for you specifically.  I have it on good authority that you're getting antsy and I don't blame you.  I'm guessing doing daytime talk shows isn't as fun and being in the field, is it?"  He paced through Steve's old kitchenette, trailing his hands over the counter.  "I'm asking you like this, in private, because contrary to popular belief, I don't have it out for you and Agent Stark.  Every day that goes by without knowing where Barnes is, that's one more day we're at a disadvantage.  We're running out of ideas.  You're the only connection we have to him... other than the Winter Soldier."  Steve must have looked surprised, because Fury nodded.  "That's right.  We know there's a connection.  What that connection is, though... that's something we'd be better off knowing.  So, it's up to you, Captain.  If you want to be put on this assignment, we're happy to have you.  But I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you still haven't told your Alpha yet, have you?  If there's one thing we got out of his psych evaluation, it's that he's a man who's crippled by a fear of not being good enough.  And if there's one thing we got out of yours, it's that you got a hero complex and you'd rather handle things yourself than risk hurting a third party."

Fury raised the eyebrow over his good eye, as if daring Steve to challenge him on any of these points.

 _He's touching my things_ , was Steve's first childish thought as he watched Fury glide around his apartment comfortably. Sure, it was mostly bare now but it was still _his_. Steve was planning to find someone in need and simply giving it to them but he still need to get a few things out- like said box of cereal. He remembered it half way through Fury's little speech and grabbed it from the top cupboard, leaning back on the countertop and wordlessly eating Cheerios as he waited for the director to finish his piece.

"If I help you-" More Cheerios were consumed. "-things are going to happen that no one will like. Firstly, Tony will get angsty as hell because, shockingly, the torture victim survivor has anxiety.  I don't know if I want to put my mate through that.  And then well, it's...really hit or miss. The Winter Soldier will kill me, we kill him, or we take him, or... he takes me.  And I don't really like any of those options."

 "You still dreaming about him?" asked Fury bluntly.

"Yeah. I dream about him a bit. He shot me. So what. He's not _actually_ come after me. If HYDRA were planning all that then why the hell would they send a warning? I'm not really keen on digging up the location of a deadly assassin or a shitty ex anytime soon, if I'm honest.  _But_." Steve sighed. More Cheerios. "I personally think the best way of finding him would be through Tony's subconscious.  He spoke to me once," he said, voice casual like he was describing the weather. He wasn't really sure why he was telling Fury all this; maybe it was just because the hunt for Bucky was a lot more serious than he'd realised.

Steve's eyes narrowed when he saw a flash of movement outside. Just a bird. Probably.

Fury listened patiently.  His eye darted toward the window after Steve's, then back to Steve's face.  "Ever think that maybe HYDRA doesn't want to kill you?  Maybe they want to recruit you.  Maybe they want to breed you.  You're a valuable asset, Rogers.  And regardless of whether your ex was shitty or not, he's still in your head, and you associate him with Public Enemy Number One.  And not only are they in your head, but, by extension, Stark's.  Which brings me back to my original point.  This is a major issue for SHIELD.  The sooner we track down Barnes, the sooner we can figure out how HYDRA is playing these little mind games.  If you want to help us find--"

He stopped suddenly.  Steve was still eating dry cereal; Fury's gaze had shifted from Steve to a mirror on the wall just behind him.

"Rogers," said Fury, with a calm, level voice.  "Don't turn around.  There's a couple of men on the balcony across from us.  How well do you know your neighbors?"  His hand was slowly moving toward his pocket.

Steve slowly turned over his shoulder to look. The men were dressed in dark colors; the one on the right had a poorly concealed weapon on him. Well, shit. Steve immediately moved to a cupboard, opening it and prising a knife away from where he'd fixed it to the wood in case of an emergency.

"For the record, I would rather die than have HYDRA babies. So if it comes to it, shoot me." The funny thing was, Steve was being serious. He couldn't think of anything worse, anything more degrading.

"I wasn't followed here. I would notice," Steve said, although Fury didn't look convinced. He looked back to the window, his eyes narrowing. There was a glint of... something outside.

"Someone's on the fire escape," he whispered.

"I need you to act natural," said Fury, slowly, calmly.  He pulled a phone from his pocket and checked it with a casualness that belief the situation they were in.  To an observer, he might have been checking a message or the time.  But Steve saw the quick dial.

He placed the phone on the counter.  "...Thirteen?  I'm in the location and I've got at least three hostiles outside.  What's your position?"

Thirteen was on speakerphone.  Her voice sounded strangely familiar.  "On site.  Looking outside.  I can confirm two on the balcony, two on the fire escape.  All have weapons.  One has some sort of exosuit, or at least his arm."

Fury swore.  "How the hell did they know we were here?"

"...we?  Is Rogers there?  I thought he moved out."

Fury opened his mouth to answer but the words never came out.  The next part happened so quickly that it was almost impossible to piece together.  The glass sliding door that led out to Steve's balcony shattered and Fury threw himself to the ground, or at least, that was Steve's hope.  His hands plunged into his coat and a moment later he was holding a pair of handguns; he barked Steve's name and half-threw, half-slid one across the floor, then held up the other one to aim.

The two men from the balcony had entered, the glass crunching beneath their boots, and suddenly the room seemed overly crowded.  Both were in tactical gear, military-style berets on their heads, their bodies bristling with weapons and spare ammo, and there we no doubt in Steve's mind that anything that could be made into Kevlar probably was.

One yelled something in Russian but it was garbled by a sudden round of gunfire from Fury's position on the ground and a line of holes appeared in Steve's wall, where there had once been a picture of him and Phil in front of the Capitol building that had thankfully been moved to Tony's house.

The front door burst open and a woman dove in.  Steve caught only the glimpse; her face was hard, set, and determined; she was wielding a gun; and he had a series of confusing thoughts because she resembled both Peggy Carter and also the cute Alpha nurse who had once lived down the hall from him.

There was no time for him to figure out who she was.  Steve picked up the gun in an instant, flicking off the safety like it was second nature. But a gun didn't do him much good when a man barged through one of the windows seconds later; he was in heavier armor than the rest, all black, glass shattering and sprinkling across the floor as he entered the fray. He was barking commands but his  voice was too muffled for Steve to make out distinctive words. The man held an electric baton, probably designed to stun.

Steve ducked away from the first swipe then on the second he simply reached out and caught the stun baton itself. The agent looked a little phased, not quite knowing how to react. "Tingles a little. Kinda like it," Steve murmured and then tugged him closer, slamming the butt of the gun into his temple. The man reeled and let go of the baton, which Steve then tossed across the floor.  Agent Thirteen and Fury had ducked behind a counter. Bullets were flying, but not in Steve's direction. Interesting.  Was that because Steve was not considered a threat?  Or because they wanted to take him alive?  Or because he wasn't the primary target at all, and it was Fury they were after, and Steve was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

No time to suss that out now.  All that mattered was that Steve was in the midst of four hostiles and that he was pretty sure he'd seen a HYDRA insignia on one of them and he couldn't let his guard down for a minute.  He needed to neutralize the threats, not just to himself, but to Fury and to Agent Thirteen.

He'd thought the first man was down but he was grabbed at Steve's ankle and trying to jam a - was that a _needle_?! -into it. Steve kicked his jaw and knocked him out, finally lifting his gun to shoot the other remaining agent in the chest when-

He hadn't even heard him coming. He hadn't even seem him.

Metal fingers closed around his neck and lifted him into the air like he weighed of nothing and all of a sudden Steve couldn't breathe. It was a _crushing_ hold. He didn't have to see him to know who it was.

"B-B-"

Then Steve was slammed into a wall and his head swam and he dropped down to the floor as he was let go.

* * *

 The instructions they gave him were always simple, straight-forward, and clear.

The man with one eye: kill him.  The blond: take him alive.  Use of excessive force was okay.

It was child's play.  Only two people.  Except there were three people and two were blonds, actually, so he felt slightly uncertain as to which was which.  No matter.  One was a woman.  She would be easy to subdue.  The other was big, and more threatening, so he went for his first.  It was disappointingly easy; he grabbed his throat and threw him to the ground in an instant, then turned.  There was only one guy with one eye.  He was aiming a gun for him.  For his head, actually.

He held up his arm and heard the bullet ping off it, felt the vibration all the way up to his teeth.

"God _damn_ it!" yelled the man, dropping a used magazine and sliding behind the counter to reload.

He lunged over the counter; the other blonde was scrambling across the floor toward the first.

"Carter!  Get him out of here!"

Fury looked up in time to see the Winter Soldier already practically on top of him.  He was seated, back against the counter, and there was no time to make sure the magazine was in the chamber.  Instead, he cracked the gun as hard as he could against the other man's face.

He made only the tiniest whine of protest.  It was an automatic response.  A brief, stunned pause, and Fury was running (no, crawling) across the floor, scattered with Cheerios and glass, toward Carter and Rogers.

"Steve!"  Carter was reaching for him, but so was another man, and a moment later the two of them were holding each other's wrists, grappling, a weird dance on the floor, both of them on their knees.

"...and here you're already helping me find him," said Fury, glaring at Steve.  "Come on, hurry it up, let's go--"

One man was still crumpled on the ground, but one was still fighting with Carter, and one was recovering and the Winter Soldier had already recovered and was on Fury's back in an instant, left arm wrapped around his neck like a steel anaconda, choking him.

A gun that Carter and the other agent were fighting over went on and a bulb above their heads shattered.

Fury kicked back and managed to catch the Winter Soldier between the legs.  He flinched, his body curling with the pain, but his grip never loosened, and aside from another small, involuntary grunt, he made virtually no sound.

The third hostile had pulled a firearm and was aiming for Fury, but with the Winter Soldier scrambling all over his back, he was having trouble aiming.

"SHOOT THE SOLDIER, IDIOT!  SHOOT HIM!" yelled the man grappling with Carter.

The gun turned from Fury to Steve and there was a bang; Steve felt the stinging heat of the bullet on his thigh and realized that they were not shooting to kill.  At least, not him.

* * *

Four miles due west, Tony hissed softly and smacked his thigh.  "What the hell?"  Were there _mosquitoes_ in his shop?  God damn it.  He pulled up his boxers but he couldn't see a bug bite there, so he went back to work, forgetting it almost immediately, humming along to Aerosmith while he screwed some hexbolts onto a chest panel.


	2. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. I don't want to give spoilers to our tiny but dedicated fanbase, but I want to warn you that Steve gets hurt in this chapter and there is some medical/physical trauma. THIS IS ABOUT AS BAD AS IT GETS. The angst machine is going full-tilt and we offer no apologies. You have been warned. - T
> 
> PS: To pre-emptively answer questions, no, this story arc is NOT Winter Soldier and is NOT connected to the events that will occur in 2014. We just wanted a plot bunny with Steve and Fury out on an adventure and threw Bucko into the mix for fun. - T

If they thought a single bullet wound would stop Steve from fighting back, then they were going to be sorely disappointed. The pain, if anything dragged him back to the present. His vision was spinning a little but he still had his strength. Being shot also made Steve pretty annoyed- there was really no need for that.

Steve stood, a little shakily at first, but then he got his bearings. He grabbed the man nearest to him, the one fighting with Kate, and lifted him up, driving his elbow into his neck, breaking it with a sickening, organic crunch. Then he dropped his body and walked over to where the Winter Soldier was still grappling with Fury. He jumped up onto the countertop, leg trembling a little, but he ignored it.  The Winter Soldier had long hair.  Convenient. A bullet nicked into the cupboard door by his head.

"Soldier! Watch out!"

Just as Steve reached for him the Winter Soldier lunged around and caught his arm. Steve had already grabbed at his hair with one hand; with the other, he slammed the heel of his palm up into his chin and made him reel enough so Fury could get out of his grip.

Kate was on the third hostile.

"Not-" Steve punched the Winter Soldier in the chest as he jumped down. He caught a punch that was delivered back; human fingers squeezing into metal knuckles. His hand shook a little at the effort and he grit his teeth. "In-" Steve's eyes narrowed and he kicked at at his right hip, knocking him back. "My-" He ducked another hit. "House!"

Steve grunted as he caught another hit with both hands; that metal arm was brutal. Kate was still grappling with the other man; Fury was only half standing. Steve hissed quietly as he was ending up trapped between the counter and the soldier.

He couldn't see his face; the mask gave him dead eyes. There was none of Bucky here. Maybe Steve had been wrong.

But he smelt just like he used to...

"я знаю кто вы. вы не должны делать это," he whispered.

* * *

He had underestimated the blond, the man he was supposed to take alive.  He hit him in the face, in the chest, and every single blow felt like being hit with a brick.  He wasn't supposed to feel pain; he was supposed to be strong for his handler.  But the blond was sending him reeling.  He wished he were left handed; the only thing that really seemed to stop this guy, or at least slow him down, was his left hand.

He managed to pin him against the counter.  He could only hope that someone would tranq him, and fast.  He still hadn't eliminated the other target.

Then the blond spoke to him, in his own language.  In Russian.

He felt confused and unsettled.  He didn't like the way this guy smelled or the sound of his voice.  Or what he was saying.  He knew him?  No he didn't.  They'd never met before.

"я Карпова," he replied, grabbing for his throat.  If he could just break an arm or crush a few ribs, he was sure this one would stop moving around so much and he could take out--

"Rogers!"

Fury held up a handgun and squeezed off six rounds in rapid succession.

The Winter Soldier hissed.  His shoulder had caught them.  Fortunately it was his left shoulder; four pinged off but two others had hit their mark, and it hurt.

But he wasn't supposed to feel pain so he tried to ignore it.

Across the room, Carter had grabbed a needle off the floor, the one they'd tried to hit Steve with earlier, and she jammed it into the neck of the HYDRA agent she was rolling around with.  His eyes went wide and a moment later, he was frothing at the mouth and going limp.

She grabbed the assault rifle off of his shoulders and threw it over hers.  Steve watched with a frown etched into his features. Seeing a "nurse" handle a gun with such ease was... unsettling.  She was already aiming it at them.

" _Drop him_ ," she barked.  " _Drop him or you're dead_."

The Winter Soldier stared down the barrel of the gun.  People threatened him with death all the time and he wasn't the slightest bit scared by that.  However, if she missed and hit the blond, then he would get in trouble.  They'd been very clear that they wanted the blond alive.  How good of a shot was she?  She was holding the gun in a way that indicated she probably wouldn't miss, so he didn't let go.

She pulled the trigger.

There was a loud click.

Carter looked down at the gun.  It was a newer model, one of Hammer Industries' SIR semi-autos.  And it was jammed.

She swore; the soldier grabbed the blond, trying to get him to go down long enough for him to kill the man with one eye, but the other blonde that was trying to shoot him.  Oh, God, he'd made a mess of things.  Glass and bullet holes were everyone, and two of the other agents were dead and one was lying motionless and drooling.  He would get punished for this.  His only hope was to at least complete his objective, even if he made a sloppy job of it.  The blond pinned to the counter was so strong; he was damn near impossible to subdue and admittedly, the Winter Soldier was becoming frustrated.  Kidnapping wasn't supposed to be _hard_ , damn it.

Steve struggled against him, bracing his good leg against him with his boot against his stomach. But still the man stood strong. Steve fought against his metal arm as he pressed the forearm on his neck. It was cold and heavy and soon he was struggling to breathe again. He stuttered, fingers scrabbling...for something. Steve could hear Fury shouting in the background, Kate shouting too. Why weren't they shooting? What was wrong? Were they scared of hurting Steve? Because, ha... it would be a little late for that.

He found a knife in the soldier's belt and pulled it out, not hesitating before he jabbed it into his hip and twisted. Nothing. The soldier perhaps twitched but that was all. He should be on the floor, but he was still standing, despite-

More bullets scattered in through the window. They had to get out before it was too late. Steve didn't want to die today, but he'd rather that than go with HYDRA.

"They have back up," Kate mattered and darted away from the window, smacking at the gun to try and get it working. She had it aimed at the Winter Soldier all the while. "Let him _go_!"

Steve stared straight into his dead, dark eyes, wishing he could just reached up and rip off his mask. "опусти меня," he said, words clear and slow like a command. He didn't fight, but he held his ground, not letting the soldier push him back down.

It didn't work.

"...Bucky." Steve tried, hissing as metal plates dug into his neck. "Let. Me. _Go_."

The soldier was so focused on trying to subdue the target he almost missed the word.

 _Bucky_.

It was a nonsense word but it hit him.  Hard.  Harder than anything that anyone had done to him all day.  He could deal with being kicked in the balls and having a knife plunged into his hip.  All of that was child's play.

But that word.

It was a nonsense word.

Wasn't it?

His grip loosened.  "что такое Bucky?" he demanded.  Curiosity had flooded him.  Who the hell was this guy, anyway?  This guy with a weird smell... an omega who fought back, who punched hard and stabbed him and then tried to order him around... this guy who said words like "Bucky."  His heart was pounding.  Even the fear of punishment and reprimand, of disappointing Karpov, of a re-training session... even all that couldn't stop him from asking.  That word carried _meaning_ , just like "daybreak" or "seventeen" or "benign" or "furnace" or--

There was a crack and The Winter Soldier suddenly went limp.  He dropped to the ground with a muffled thump.  Behind him, Fury was holding Steve's iron skillet.

"Come on, let's go!" he barked, grabbed Steve's arm and yanking.  "It's you they want, Rogers, hurry, let's move..."

He flung open the front door, then slammed it back shut.  "Fuck.  They're in the stairwells.  Carter!"

"This is Agent Thirteen on base 3 requesting immediate backup, I've got contact with HYDRA hostiles, at least a dozen--" Carter was yelling into the phone.  She had abandoned the semi and swapped it out for a pistol.  She caught Fury's eyes.  "Take the fire escape, go, take it!" she yelled, throwing a set of keys at him.

"Rogers, with me, come on!"

Steve had been about to answer him.  Fury was grabbing him and dragging him out, even as air was flooding his lungs again and he was gasping out ragged breaths of relief. "No-no-no! It's him! I'm not- it's _him_ -" Steve's voice was breaking as Kate slammed the door behind them. It hurt so much- because he _knew_. There had been a flicker of recognition, something... something which had made him loosen his grip. He wasn't just a monster- there was a part of him left in there.

Natasha had been wrong.  Bucky was still in there.  It was him.  It was Bucky. 

"Now is not the time," Fury snapped as he kicked the fire escape door open. Steve had to admit he was right. HYDRA were breaking into the corridor, it was time to go.

He yanked his hand away from Fury's grasp and together,they sprinted down the fire escape. Steve's leg was throbbing but if they'd hit an artery he figured he would be on the floor already.

More HYDRA agents appeared just as the three SHIELD agents rolled onto the ground, tearing toward the curb and tumbling into Kate's car, or maybe Fury's, or maybe just SHIELD's.  Steve didn't know, or care.  Kate chucked a pair of keys to Fury; Fury chucked a handgun at Steve as he started the engine and slammed on the gas. Steve closed one eye and focused, pushing away the pain before he fired, aiming out the window.

One shot. Two shot.

Both men down. Steve reloaded as Fury took them away from the curb.

"Where the hell do we go from here? Will they follow?" he breathed, more men appearing as they left the entrance. Bullets scattered over the concrete but thankfully didn't catch any of the wheels.  "How did they know we were meeting in my old apartment this morning, Nick?  ...Nick?" demanded Steve.

Fury's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.

* * *

 Everything was murky.

 _Bucky_.  He turned that word over and over and over and over in his head.  The way it had dropped from those lips.  It carried the same impact as _homecoming_ , another nonsense word.  That man wasn't supposed to say that.  No.  That man could only call him--

 _Barnes_.

Another weird nonsense word.  Similar, but different.  That was the word he'd been called, a word that had been carried to him on a brisk spring breeze over a field of tulips and it had hurt, pierced his heart to hear it.  When was the last time he'd heard _Barnes_?  The white-haired man in the car had said that to him, too.  Sergeant Barnes, he had said.  Another memory.  A field of tulips.  The weight of a rifle.  France.  1944.  Sergeant Barnes.

Someone was turning him over.

"Motherfucker, they've killed the asset!"

"He's not dead, look, he's breathing."

He tried to apologize for failing and also for displaying pain, but all he managed was a weak wheeze.  His mouth was filled with blood.

"Soldier!"  A familiar voice.  "Soldier!  ...Mother of Christ, what did he do to you?"

"I thought he was smaller," he replied, head rolling.  He couldn't tell anymore if they were talking in English or Russian or something else; he groped for Karpov, wanting to plead for mercy.  He hadn't realized the blond would be so strong.

"They're headed east.  We're in pursuit.  ...should we put him down?"

"No, he's fine," barked Karpov.  "вставай, солдат!"

The soldier staggered to his feet, half-blind, spitting blood.  One eye wasn't focusing correctly anymore.  His leg was throbbing where he'd been stabbed.  He'd wet himself.  But he was standing; with his good eye; he found Karpov's face, and Karpov was pointing him in the right direction.  With determination, he began limping toward the exit.  He wouldn't let him down again.

* * *

"Fucking figures.  Bet they've been staking out your place for weeks, waiting for you and Stark to go back there," grumbled Fury, his hands tights on the steering wheel.  They were headed east, too fast, weaving through traffic, their bodies being thrown back and forth every time the car moved.

"Looks to me like they were trying to kill you, not him," said Kate calmly, pulling another handgun from her glove box.

"People have been trying to kill me since the fifties.  We've got to protect Rogers.   _He's_ the Avengers Initiative, _that's_ what they're after... he's our most important-- oh, don't look so flattered, Rogers!"  They skidded through a red light and someone honked; a moment later, a black SUV with tinted windows was tearing after them.

"We can't shake them on city streets," said Kate.

"You're right.  Rogers, you any good with the metro?  Can you get on a train and disappear if we hold them off?  Create a choke point?" asked Fury.  His eye never left the road; they were coming within inches of hitting other motorists, and being greeted with a lot of angry honks, but slowing down would only mean that the black vehicle behind them would catch up, and you didn't have to be a genius to know that it was not filled with any well-wishers.

For a man without depth perception, he was proving to be an excellent getaway driver.

Fury yanked a hard right and Steve swore that, for a split second, the car went up on two wheels.  They bumped over a curb and tore through a small garden plot on the curb, ruining the flowers.  It didn't matter.  The black SUV behind them had closed a gap and there was a loud crash as a shotgun shell took off Fury's sideview mirror.  He swore again.

"That was him.  The Winter Soldier?" asked Kate.  She was asking Fury, but looking at Steve.  Fury was a beta.  But even he could see Steve's emotions written all over his face, heard his voice cracking.  And for Kate, as an Alpha... Steve looked and smelled and felt like his heart was breaking.

"It was," said Fury.  His voice was surprisingly gentle without any of its usual anger.  "Give Steve one of your guns.  Rogers, when we stop, you get on that train and you don't look back.  Head to the airport, get a plane ticket, and get the hell out of here.  Understand?  You _don't look back_."

And Steve knew that Fury wasn't just talking about Los Angeles.

* * *

 Tony checked his watch impatiently.

"Doesn't Steve know how far Washington DC is?" he grumbled.  He and Charlie were sharing an egg salad sandwich on the steps leading up to his private jet.  They'd been hanging out just outside the hangar for thirty minutes.

"Did you text him yet?"

"Yes!  And he's being a stupid idiot from the forties who doesn't ever remember to charge it or check his texts," sulked Tony.

"Look, I have a few buddies here at the port.  We could go now and just meet him there," suggested Charlie.  "I doubt _Captain America_ is going to have any trouble getting to Washington."

Tony whined in protest.  He'd been looking forward to fucking Steve on the ride over.

"Can't you feel him?" she asked.  Charlie wasn't bonded.  She looked over at Tony, chewing her sandwich contemplatively, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand.

Tony focused.  Yep, he could feel Steve all right.  He shuddered.  " _Ugh_ .  It feels like... not good. He must be watching _Finding Nemo_ again.  He's a real sap for stories like that."  Tony sighed and rose, dusting sandwich crumbs from his hands.  "He told me not to worry.  He's got some big meeting today and it's probably running late and they're all yelling at each other.  You're right, let's go.  I have a second jet.  I'm sure Steve'll meet me.  It's _his_ dinner, after all.  And it doesn't start 'til seven so there's still time.  I just thought..."

He looked embarrassed, and Charlie began grinning.  "You wanted to take Captain America sight-seeing through Washington DC, didn't you?"

"Aw, c'mon, the guy loves all the stuff," said Tony with a helpless shrug.  He and Carlie boarded the plane.  Panic and hurt was coursing through Tony, and he felt bad because Steve might be having a flashback or something in a SHIELD bathroom.  But Steve had told him not to worry and Tony didn't want to baby him, so he shoved his mate's feelings toward the back of his mind and focused instead on getting himself a drink from his private cocktail bar.

* * *

"Are you insane? I've been shot. I can't get on a _plane_ ," Steve wheezed, pressing down on the wound on his leg and wincing a little. He was ruining Kate's car, that was for sure. He was okay for now, but he wasn't sure he could last it out for an entire plane ride. "I mean..." he slumped back. "I _do_ need to get to DC."

"Oooh, watcha ya doing there?" Kate asked as she reloaded a magazine.

"Supposed to be having-" He fumbled around and found a first aid kit beneath one of the seats. Adrenaline, awesome.

"Want a hand?"

"Please," Steve nodded. He handed it to Kate. She jabbed the needle into his leg and squeezed down. "-dinner with the president."

"Aw nice, I bet the security is pretty good there too. Handy."

Steve suddenly cried out, feeling a spasm in his stomach. He curled in on himself. Someone must have hit him hard there. He frowned, the adrenaline coursing through him as he sat back here. "Fuck. Okay. When do we- _ahh_."  Another spasm, hard and sharp and hot. 

One of the back cars appeared on the road ahead and stopped right in the middle of the road. Fury swerved but didn't quite manage to keep going. They were forced to stop.

Another black car behind them. And then another to the left.

"I do not have enough bullets for this," Kate whispered.

"Nick. Nick, you gotta get us out of here," said Steve, looking to him for direction.  Another wave, a ripple of pain, cut through him. "Fuck," he hissed softly, to himself.  His stomach was killing him.  The pain, paired with the adrenaline, made him want to puke.

Steve saw a glint of metal in the distance. "He's...he's here."

He saw a subway sign in the distance.

"...If you guys cover me, I can get down there. I'll lose them in the tunnel."

Fury turned around in his seat.  "I'm going to get out first, go left.  Carter.  You go right.  Cover Rogers.  Rogers, you..."  He reached out and put a hand on Steve's shoulder.  "...you get to that dinner.  Got it?"

He gave Carter a sharp nod, then yanked open his door and rolled out.

Almost immediately, Steve heard gunfire; he and Carter ducked.

Traffic had come to a grinding halt; there was the car parked in front of them, of course, in the middle of the road, but there were also two men with guns targeting Fury.

"Go!" yelled Carter, opening her door and charging.

Steve could hear sirens; a police car turned the corner and, not anticipating the jam, slammed into a van, which slammed into the car in front of it.  The staccato of automatic gunfire and the familiar smoky smell was everywhere.  Despite the tall, glinting modern buildings around them and the sleek hybrid cars, this was war, and Steve was familiar with this.

People were abandoning their cars and running for the sidewalks, taking shelter in buildings and behind letter boxes and fire hydrants and anything else they could.  It was chaos.

* * *

_Kill the man with one eye.  Take the blond._ Simple orders.

God, his head, though.  He'd discarded his mask, unable to breathe through it because it kept pooling with blood.  They'd set up a blockade, but he didn't know what sort of vehicle they'd taken.  No matter.  He would smell him out.  He knew what the blond smelled like.  His smell was unusually strong and imminently recognizable.

As he walked down the street, through the rows of cars, people scattered before him like pigeons, but he ignored them.  He was a walking arsenal.  But they were not his targets.

He crouched by a van, surveying the scene with his good eye.  ...there!  The man with one eye!

He rolled for momentum, sprang to his feet, and moved, crouching low and taking a zigzag pattern.  A man who knew how to avoid enemy fire.  A challenge.

He heaved up his rifle and found him in the scope, and slowly, slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

Three rapid shots.  One, two, three.  One went wide, two hit their mark.  Not in the head, though.  One on the shoulder and one in the back.  Non-lethal.  He would have sworn but that would have been a waste of energy; he was already moving, stalking forward, wanting to find a better position.

* * *

The adrenaline helped Steve on his feet, helped him run. He heard gunshots. There was chaos around him, the smell of smoke and engine gas pungent in the air. It was toxic. His right thigh burned with the pain of running but he pushed on until he saw it, just out of the corner of his eye- Fury was shot. He was down. And there was the soldier.

 _He's going to die_ , Steve thought dumbly and before he knew what he was doing he was sprinting towards him.

Steve landed on the Winter Soldier heavily, knocking the gun out of his hands as he threw himself against his back. They rolled for dominance, Steve throwing a punch to his jaw whilst he took one to the gut. He twisted around, fisting a hand in the soldier's hair and wrenching his head back.

"B-Bucky."

The word came out choked and shaky and the thing that hurt about it most was the way his old mate was looking at him- like a stranger. It _was_ strange. He looked the same and yet, at the same time, entirely different. His face was more severe, sharper. All the boyishness had faded and a maturity was in its place. His hair was long and ragged, a state he never would have left it in before and his eyes- they were empty, like there was nothing behind them.

The Winter Soldier seemed to freeze for a brief moment. HYDRA agents were closing in and Fury was bleeding out on the pavement.

Steve did the only thing he could think to. He lifted his gun to his own head and stood, the Winter Soldier instantly letting him go.

One of the agents was nearing Fury with a knife.

"You kill him and I will _shoot myself_!" cried Steve with conviction. "I will! Don't _test_ me, I swear to God."

"W-Wasn't...p-part of the plan..." Fury wheezed.

"'This really isn't the time'," Steve said, using the exact same voice the director has used before on the fire escape as he met his gaze briefly. There was a strange tangible sense of tenderness. The real meaning behind all of this, of course, wasn't Steve rebelling against him. It was him saying: _I'm prepared to risk my life to save yours_.

"FALL BACK!" barked one of the agents, holding up a hand.  "Leave him!"

There were four men standing within meters of Fury; the Winter Soldier was at Steve's feet.

Weapons were still trained on Fury, but no one was moving.

The one who had yelled for them to fall back stepped forward.  "...Captain Rogers.  My pleasure.  This is a bit of a mess, isn't it?" he said pleasantly, gesturing.  It was.  "...perhaps we'd be better off making a deal.  We don't want you dead.  And I'm sure you would rather not be dead, either.  We can agree on that much, yes?"

"Rogers," growled Fury, softly, low.  " _Don't go with them_."

"We're willing to let your friend here crawl away if you'd cooperate," said the man.

"I will never co-operate with you," Steve breathed, meeting the man's eyes steadily. His finger shook on the trigger, however. HYDRA was right about  one thing: he didn't want to die. But many more would if they worked out how to recreate the serum. It was a simple choice when it was put in perspective.

At his feet, the Winter Soldier was slowly, slowly getting up.

What had they done to him? Was there any of him left? Steve didn't know. It was like watching Bucky fall all over again, except this time he had seen him hit the bottom. He was in pain, he needed help... but Steve couldn't reach him. Just like he couldn't before he fell- he hadn't quite managed to grab his hand... looking down at him, Steve found his motivation.  If he needed to pull the trigger, he could do it.  He could do it knowing he'd let Bucky fall.

The soldier stared up; the omega's sharp blue eyes stared down.  His target, the blond, was mere feet from him!  If he was fast enough, he could grab him.  But he wasn't fast enough.  The blond was faster, he knew that already.  He continued to stare at him.  He'd never met anyone like this before.  He was incredible.  And an omega.  There was a strange feeling inside him.  It wasn't frustration (like when he missed a shot) or elation (like when he hit a target).  It was in his stomach and throat and, yes, maybe a little bit between his legs.  ...fear, maybe?  Was this what fear felt like?  Karpov had once told him that fear was probably the most powerful and primal emotion in the whole world.  But he couldn't feel fear.  And if this was fear, he was confused, because he sort of liked it.

"We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Rogers."

"Steve!" hissed Fury.  "It's fine!  Go!  You're worth more than I am!  Go!"

"солдат!" called someone.

His heart leaped.  Karpov!  "что мне делать?" he asked. 

One of the agents began laughing.  The man nearest to him reached over and hit him, hard.

The Winter Soldier knew he was being laughed at.  His eyes narrowed.  But not before he spotted Karpov.  Saw the look on his face, one of disappointment and hurt.  And then saw the two men who grabbed him, began shoving him into the van.

He realized he was responsible.  He had gotten his Alpha in trouble.  This was his fault.

He should know what to do.  How to complete his objective.

He was not performing well, he understood this.  The blond was within an arm's reach of him and yet he did know know what to do.

Ever since this strange blond omega had called him Bucky, everything felt... wrong.  He was uncertain.  He was not allowed to feel uncertainty, yet there it was, coursing through his veins like poison.

"...Полковник!"  What he needed was more _time_.  He no longer cared if the one-eyed man got away or even if the blond died.  He had to save his Alpha.  He needed a distraction.

He grabbed a handful of smoke bombs and a flash-bang from his belt and threw it.

Someone fired in response but their round went wild, and someone else shot something much bigger and hit a car, which erupted into flames.  The stand-off dissolved as quickly as it had begun, but dissolved into a hysterical mess of smoke.  Half of them were blind and deaf; the others couldn't see further than their own arm because of the smoke.

"Полковник! Сэр!"

That was his only link to the world, the only person who knew what was going on.  Without his handler, without him, he was lost.  Whose orders would he follow if they killed Karpov?  How could he live knowing he was responsible for the man's death?  Damn it all, damn his hesitation, damn him for being imperfect.  He had surely earned whatever punishment he faced but he did not care.

The moment the smoke bombs went off, Steve dropped down by Nick's side, rolling him over and putting pressure on the wound in his back. "It's okay. Nick, just breathe..." The Director's breaths were labored. Was he going to die? "Just breathe.  I got you."

"Damn it, Rogers!" wheezed Fury.

Steve picked him up in his arms with a grunt of effort.  "You can yell at me for defying your orders later, sir!" he managed.

An agent appeared suddenly through the smoke, right in front of his face; Steve headbutted him _hard_.  Walking as briskly as he could, he found an abandoned car and placed Nick in the passenger seat before getting into the drivers'. 

Steve broke about speed limit possible getting them out.  He felt oddly guilty about stealing someone's car, about leaving Kate, about everything.  He could only hope Kate was okay, but Nick was bleeding out on him and he didn't have time to hesitate. He found the nearest hospital he could and then hoisted Fury up into his arms again.

A spasm went through him and he groaned, nearly dropping Nick.  Had he been shot or something without noticing?  The adrenaline had certainly skewed his perspective, that much was certain.

HYDRA hadn't succeeded today and but Steve felt like he'd still lost the battle.  He had come face-to-face with the mythological Winter Soldier and his worst fears had been confirmed.  All this time Bucky had been suffering and he'd done _nothing_. He'd... abandoned him.

Steve threw his wallet at a woman outside of the ER with some difficulty. "You. You take that car, drive it as far as you can from here for ten minutes then get the fuck away from it." He must have looked quite alarming, standing there with a dying man in his arms and covered in blood. The woman just nodded, pale, and she drove off.

Steve turned and stepped into the foyer.  "Somebody! Somebody help!" All eyes turned to him. He felt something warm running down the inside of his thigh and trembled, his stomach spasming again. He was shaking.

There was a flurry of activity as EMTs surrounded him, taking Fury away.  Steve had a brief moment of panic; what if HYDRA figured out he was at this hospital before SHIELD did?  But there was no time.  Not if he wanted Fury to live.  They were taking him into emergency surgery and were shoving Steve onto a gurney even though he kept saying he could walk; they were cutting away his clothes and checking the gunshot wound on his leg.  It had thankfully gone straight through, so that could just be bandaged, but the doctor (beta, female. He didn't catch her name. He didn't really care) pointed out that he was bleeding quite badly.  They wiped away the blood.  But the blood wasn't coming from the wound.

"Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh," said Steve, panicking.

"Mr. Rogers, do you know your blood type, sir?" asked one of the EMTs.  An omega, like him.  Being called sir calmed him down for some reason.

"O.  It's O," he said, still trying to sit up, needing to see what was happening.  He only let them push him down after another spasm hit his stomach.

They pushed him into a room and just like that, Steve's impression of the frantic activity all around him was over.  He was not sure how long he'd been there.  A minute?  An hour?

The doctor was sitting by his bed, one hand on his forearm.  Her face was soft but tired.  Steve was reminded of his mother.

The doctor gently informed Steve that he'd just had a miscarriage. That he'd been just over a month along, if that. That it was very common.  Especially the first.

Steve had stared at her, expressionless, when she'd informed him.  She might as well have been talking Japanese for all of the comprehension he showed.  After asking him a few delicate questions, she offered to leave him alone, and he nodded numbly.

An hour later they told him Fury was stable.  Steve had left his bed and was staring out the window, mind blank.  He thanked them automatically.  Behind them, Kate appeared.

"You got a dinner to go to," she told him, leaning against the door with crossed arms.

"Gonna be late," said Steve dully.

"Better late than never. There's a car waiting for you outside.  Change of clothes in it."

Steve didn't respond.

He hadn't known.  God help him, he hadn't known.

"Bullets can't stop Cap, right?" prompted Kate.

...she didn't know.

"Yeah.  Right," Steve breathed with an awkward chuckle.  He turned.  If Fury was stable, and SHIELD agents were here... then there was no reason for him to be.  Only the doctor knew what had happened to him.  He could leave.  He could leave and pretend this had never happened.

And besides.  Fury's last orders had been for Steve to get away.  There was nothing more Steve wanted than to get away.  He wanted to go to the farthest corner of the earth, see if he could outrun the last two hours in the hospital, the sound of the doctor's voice.  "And you... _you_ owe me some explanations."

"Buy me coffee sometime," Kate told him with a wink and then she pulled away to let him pass.  Steve Rogers walked out of the hospital room and down the hall without a backward glance.


	3. Bucky's Day Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally started as a one-shot but ended up in the RP. As a resident of Los Angeles, I pictured Bucky's location as most likely Venice Beach. The people he meets are based on three of my real-life friends, whose names I didn't change, who stated that they were "honored" to be featured in a fanfic as hippie stoners. - T

He'd leaped onto a car, then down, the shimmied up a fire escape using a dumpster as leverage.  He tore across the rooftop, trying to find the van, trying to follow Karpov.  He knew that for a while now, they had been talking about eliminating him.  But it never occurred to him that he might get Karpov eliminated, too.  Karpov was the one responsible for him.  Karpov was there when he was punished, when he was rewarded, when he gave mission reports, when he was given orders, everything.  Karpov was the one who occasionally brushed his hair from his eyes or told him his work was acceptable.  And now, because of him, they had grabbed him, shoved him into a van, and driven off with him.

The van was gone.  He ran along the rooftops, following one van, then another, not sure where Karpov was.  He couldn't feel him.  Why couldn't he feel him?

 _I can't even feel you anymore.  But that's what you always wanted._  Someone had said that to him.

It must have been Karpov.

What he had with Karpov was like a bond but better because Karpov was in charge.

_I can't even feel you anymore._

Yes, he remembered, vaguely, someone being angry with him, furious.  In a field of tulips in France.

With every passing second he was becoming frantic.  He'd failed his objective.  He was pretty sure that his target, the one-eyed man, was alive and also that the other guy hadn't been captured and now they had taken his handler and he was alone in the world, and everything looked so unfamiliar and strange to him.

The only thing he knew how to do was follow orders, and now his objectives had disappeared and his order-giver was gone.

He took about an hour to huddle up in the corner of a roof next to an air conditioner, shivering even though he wasn't cold.

Then, eventually, he climbed down and set out west on foot.  He didn't know where he was going.   _Find Karpov.  Kill the man with one eye.  Capture the blond._ Those three things were all that mattered but he didn't even know where to start.  He kept his head down and walked briskly, avoiding people, all too aware of the blood all over his face and leg.  He keeled over a few times, ducking into alleys to clutch his stomach and retch a little.

No.  No.  No.  This was all wrong.  He was feeling things, lots of things, chiefly panic, and he _did not like this_.  He kept going, keeping the sirens to his back, grabbing a hooded sweatshirt and a baseball cap from a sidewalk sale, blending in as best he could.

He followed the setting sun until he hit the beach.  Then he just stood there.

He'd been to beaches before (maybe?) but not like this one.  Beaches were dangerous places where you were exposed and mortar could strike you down at any moment.  This beach was calm and very wide.  The ocean stretched on forever.  A sidewalk split the grass and the palm trees from the sand.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit.  The sun was setting rapidly and there weren't many people here.  Eventually he just sat.

A dog came up to him, wagging.  It was tan, with a curled-up tail and pointy ears.  It dropped a yellow ball.

He picked it up and threw it to make the dog go away.  The dog did, but it returned again with the ball.  He threw it harder, and farther, but the dog brought it back once more.  He put the ball in his pocket.  The dog bowed and bounced around with excitement, then barked.  He quickly threw the ball, not wanting the dog to bark and bring attention to him.

Too late.  A girl and a guy were running up the beach to him.

"Pearl!  Oh, my God, Pearl, there you are!  Hey!  Pearl!  Come here, sweetie!" yelled the woman.  The man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.  The dog ignored them and dropped the ball in front of him.

He threw it automatically.

The couple groaned.

"Hey, what the hell, that's our dog!  What did you do that for?" yelled the man.  The dog was already coming back.

"I'm sorry, is he bothering you?" asked the woman, hurrying over to grab the dog.

He looked the pair over.  The woman was wearing a very long, thin shirt over a bikini bottom.  The man was wearing thin, flowy pants and a shell necklace.  These people did not seem like a threat, except for maybe the dog.  If they could command the dog to attack him then he could be hurt.  He knew he could take the dog, but he felt weak and shaky and he hurt all over, especially his head, and he didn't want to get bitten.

"Oh my God.  Are you okay?" asked the woman, staring at him.

He didn't know how to answer that.

"Ducky, look at him.  Oh my God.  What happened to you?  Ducky, we have to help him."

"Hey, man, can you talk?  Can you say something?  ...do you think he's homeless?  Maybe some kids beat him up.  Hey, man, come on, what's your name, bro?"

His name.  People called him Asset, Resource, Program, Soldier... and sometimes Karpov's.

"Karpov's," he said.

"Karpovs?  Your name is Karpovs?  What is that, Greek?  What happened to you?"

"I'm a soldier," he said.

"Oh my God, he's a vet.  Come on, man, you're coming with us."

He let them haul him to his feet.

"Oh my God.  Your arm.  What is that, is that--"

"Stark Tech," said the woman with disgust in her voice.  "Now that he's done with designing weapons, they've got him designing soldiers to act as weapons.  I fucking hate that guy.  He's, like, the war machine incarnate.  I bet the VA gave this dude a new arm and then tossed him out onto the street without even asking him how he felt.  Bet you in another two weeks they'll send him right back there to fight their oil war for them."

They marched him down the beach.  He followed because he didn't really know where else to go and also because the dog was following him and he didn't want it to bark or chase him if he ran away.

They were in a van parked on the sidewalk and there was a fire on the beach.  There was a third person there.

"Whoa, man, who's that?" she asked.

"Karpovs.  He's a vet.  Pearl found him zonked out in the sand.  He's pretty messed up.  We think some kids beat him up.  Karpovs, this is Freak, and I'm Amber, and this is Ducky.  Come on, let's get him cleaned up.

They plopped him down by the fire and began wiping his face off, and someone handed him a pipe.  He took a long drag and coughed.  It wasn't tobacco.

They asked for his story and he tried to explain but it was disjointed.  "They took my mate.  He lost a baby.  It was my fault.  I loved him, really, but I couldn't mate him, he was too sick.  I didn't want to hurt him.  But then he was mad at me.  I sent him some flowers.  They took him in a van."

"What was your mate's name?" asked Amber, gently.

He felt confused.  "...Karpov."

"...you and your mate have the same name?"

"Maybe it's a common name in Greece," said Ducky.  

Karpovs plowed on with his story.  "I couldn't reach far enough.  There were too many targets.  They were mad about the man in the car even though I completed my objective.  He said something to me.  I didn't want to go back to the chair.  I tried to grab his hand but it was too far."

Eventually they told him to just shut up and smoke some more.  He obediently smoked while Amber wiped off his face for him.  He still had Pearl's ball in his pocket and she was watching him with great interest.  He no longer felt afraid of her.

"Man, look at this dude... you see, this is what I mean, man, they say _support the troops_ and then they treat them like dirt when they get back.  Big whoop, he's got a prosthetic.  How's that supposed to help him if he's having night terrors and he's so strung out he can't even get a job?"

"Yeah and now Uncle Sam's trying to get us all to think omega rights and war are like, the same cause, man.  What a bunch of bullshit.  I hope _Captain America_ can fucking sleep at night, selling out to the war profiteers like that."

"I bet he eats _foie gras_ ," added Freak viciously, like this was one of the worst things she could think of to say about someone.  "I bet he _doesn't recycle_."

"Like anyone even gives two shits' about omega rights.  They're just trying to distract us, man.  Stark's back in business and anyone with half a brain can tell this is all about Big Government trying to win us over with some pre-arranged bond--"

"HEY!"  Pearl barked as a man with a flashlight walked up.  "The beach is closed, you can't park your van here.  Do you have a permit for that fire?"

"I know my rights, I don't have to answer any of your questions," sneered Freak.

The man shined the flashlight in Karpovs eyes.  He held up an arm to shield them.

"Unit 17, I've got a couple of hooligans over here on Ocean Front and Navy, and there's a beat-up guy with a metal arm--"

"Are we being detained?" demanded Ducky.

The policeman heaved a world-weary sigh and began kicking sand over their fire.

He and Freak were engaged in an angry discussion when the black SUV pulled up.  Was back-up here already?  The policeman held up a flashlight, but a moment later, he dropped it.  Karpovs recognized the high-pitched pop of a silencer.

Ducky, Amber, and Freak dropped too.

"солдат!  We were beginning to get worried we wouldn't find you," called someone.

"...where's Karpov?"

"He's fine.  He's retiring.  Come, get in and you'll be allowed to say good-bye."

He actually hesitated.  But years of following orders weren't easy to shake off.  He was scared of what they would do to him for asking questions and not completing either of his two objectives.  But he'd earned whatever punishment they could dole out.  He rose and walked over to them, footsteps silent in the sand.  Beside him, Pearl followed; she growled when they got close.

There was a pop, and Pearl stopped growling.

He climbed into the back seat of the SUV.

"Should we hide them?" asked one.

"Naw.  They're a bunch of beach bums.  No one will care.  ...did you have a nice vacation, солдат?"  He laughed a little.  "...oh, my God, you smell that?  They gave him weed.  He's baked out of his mind."

"Oh, great.  Today just keeps on getting better and better, doesn't it?  Rumlow's going to kill us..."

As they drove away, they passed a police car going the opposite direction.  It was marked with the number 17.


	4. Dinner at the White House, part I

"Where's Rogers?" That was the first question out of his mouth.

"He's safe," said Carter quickly.

Fury was lying in the hospital bed.  In a blue hospital gown instead of his usual long, black coat, he looked... different.  Yet still quite imposing.  He had refused to take off his eye patch.

He struggled to sit up.  "Damn it, no drugs, come on..." he griped, trying to pull out his IV.  The heart monitor went wild.

Carter smacked his hand.  "Knock it off.  You need that, trust me.  You nearly lost your spleen.  If Cap hadn't gotten you here as fast as he had, you'd be a goner."

"I need to call the World Security Council right now.  No one should have known him and I were--"

"I already reported it.  You've got an eight-man security detail on your room, and Rogers is safe.  He's in a SHIELD convoy right now, on his way to the airport.  Just enjoy the morphine, boss.  Everything's under control."

* * *

 The man who was driving Steve was an omega, and he kept glancing into the rearview mirror at Steve.

Steve didn't know who Kate or Carter or Thirteen or whatever her name was, but one thing was clear.  She wasn't a nurse.  She had spent her time at the hospital commanding the staff with a shocking amount of authority, and by the time men in sunglasses and earpieces and barely concealed weapons began to cluster around Steve's and Fury's rooms, Steve had figured out she was a higher-up in one of those agencies that Tony called "alphabet soup:" FBI, CIA, DOD, NSA, or SHIELD.

He was pretty sure it was only through her intervention that he had been allowed to leave.  His doctor had recommended an overnight stay, and had let him go with a number of dire warnings about both the wound on his leg (it could get infected!) and the miscarriage (they had to monitor his blood loss!  He was going to experience nausea and low blood pressure and cramps and in rare cases he could go into toxic shock!)

Kate, not a nurse, had told Steve he could go whenever he liked, as long as he took care of himself.  They had dressed the bullet wound on his leg; fortunately, the slug had exited on its own.  They had cleaned him up as best they could but the doctor had explained that he would be bleeding and spotting for probably another day or two.  The bullet wound on his leg was neatly dressed and Steve understood the spotting she was talking about wouldn't be coming from that.

Sure enough, Steve had no sooner left the hospital and gotten into an unmarked SUV than he discovered he'd bled through the crotch of the pants Kate had given him.  He was in the same undershirt he'd arrived at the hospital in and it was more blood than clean cloth.  His.  Fury's.  Bucky's. 

Bruises were blooming everywhere.

Despite his best efforts to get cleaned up, he looked like a wreck.

Maybe that's why his chauffeur was so interested.

"...I saw you that article you did in the Times," he said after a long, awkward silence.  "...funny stuff.  ...really 'ppreciate what you're doing for us out there.  Y'know.  .... _us_."  It was obvious what he meant.  He reminded Steve of Happy, a bit.

They lapsed back into silence.  It was already late afternoon.  Steve's dinner started in less than four hours, and even with a SHIELD jet or one of Tony's, he was shaping up to be one or two hours late.

* * *

"CHARLIE!" hollered Tony.  He was trying to tie a bowtie and he was about ready to give up.  He could build jet engines, but goddammit, this tie was just not cooperating.

"--breaking news regarding the live gunmen in downtown Los--" a reporter on the television was saying.

"Mute!  Damn it, JARVIS, I need to concentrate.  ...CHARLIE!"

She came running.  Tony had changed; it was a black-tie affair and he always kept a few tuxedos in the jet.

"...help me tie this bowtie."

"How do you not know--"

"Ha ha.  Knot."

"--how to tie a bowtie?" demanded Charlie, striding forward to help him.  "And why do you assume I know?"

"'Cause you know everything.  And the reason I don't know how to tie a bowtie is because my assistants always do it for me."

"I'm your _pilot_."

"Normally Steve would do it."  Tony felt a twist in his stomach.  He'd felt _off_ all day, even after five drinks.  "...hope to hell he meets us there.  I don't wanna steal the guy's thunder, talk about accessible suppressants and public safe spaces with Ellis all by myself."

Charlie snorted.  "Yeah, that's the last thing omegas need.  ...how's that?"

Tony checked himself in the mirror, adjusting his hair a little.  "That's great.  ...seriously, I've felt kind of like shit all day.  Guilty, I guess.  You think we should've waited for him?"

"We waited over an hour," pointed out Charlie.

"...yeah," agreed Tony.  Nonetheless, he couldn't shake the feelings of guilt.  Guilt and loss and... everything bad, really.  He gave himself a shake and then gave a practice smile in the mirror.  "I doubt he'll miss his own dinner.  Heck, bet he'll beat us there.  ...where's Dani?  I need another drink."

He ignored his bond-feelings on the plane ride.  By the time they landed he was feeling pretty numb.  _Good job,_ he thought to himself.  He was really getting the hang of this whole being-bonded thing.

Tony and Happy loped down the jet stairs toward the car that awaited them.

Tony couldn't stop checking his phone.  He had hoped he'd meet Steve here, but Steve was a no-show.

"He wouldn't miss his own dinner," said Tony.

"No," agreed Happy as they drove down Pennsylvania Avenue.

"...can you wait for him at the airport?"

"Sure, boss."

Tony didn't want to admit he was panicking, but he was.  Of course he was.  Because he was arriving alone to what was frankly Steve's dinner.  Steve was Captain America, for cryin' out loud.

Tony let himself be led into the diplomatic reception room.  Now that he was in, he was checking his watch instead of his phone.  He grabbed a martini as quickly as he could.  It was a small affair, less than thirty people: a couple key politicians (he spotted Senator Ross and cringed, then spotted Senator Stern and cringed harder) and a couple leaders from various organizations (the leader of WORC, the World Omega Rights' Council, was there).  Steve's absence was glaring.  Tony pretended it was normal.

"Ellis!  Rodriguez!"  He greeted both the president and the vice-president familiarly, shaking their hands.

"Stark!  Great to see you, welcome... where's Captain Rogers?"

"Probably trying to figure out how to work his GPS.  He was born in nineteen-eighteen, you know," said Tony.  Everyone chuckled.

Tony cast an eye around the room with its bright, sparkling chandeliers and its gilded molding and its elegant potted ferns.  This was exactly the sort of environment he was most comfortable in.  He'd never seen Steve in a tux and wondered if maybe that was the issue.  Maybe the guy was frantically looking for something to wear.  Steve had a hard time finding clothes he wasn't bulging out of.

Steve had mentioned he'd been here once before, during the Roosevelt years.  Tony doubted much had changed.  The White House was a living museum and all the furniture had an antiquated look around it.  Also, politics always catered to the more conservative class; trios were far more common in DC than in LA.  Politicians were usually Alphas or betas, and they paired up with other Alphas and betas.  But certainly Alphas would also bond to one (or sometimes two) omegas, who would live in the shadows as PAs or permanent interns.  In this regard, having a butler who was an Alpha was actually pretty progressive of Ellis.  But now that Tony was aware of how omegas were treated, he couldn't help noticing that most of the servers were omegas.

Tony liked the head of the WORC, a female omega with a commanding presence.  Steve would love her too, he was sure.

 _If he ever shows up,_ he thought with annoyance, discreetly checking his watch.  Steve was nearly an hour late.  Tony was doing what he did, working the crowd, making jokes and reassuring, but he was getting fed up.

* * *

"Is it....is it okay if I have a lie down, in the back?" Steve asked, voice a little quiet. He was tired. He hadn't eaten all day, except some dried cereal in the morning. He was pretty sure he stank of blood, that his driver was being very polite about not mentioning it. He was probably ruining the seats. Steve undid his seatbelt and laid across the back, having to bend his knees because his legs were just too goddamn long. It felt good to lean his head against something, though.

The driver, Alex, was happy to accommodate him.  "Sure thing Cap. You wanna put some music on?"

"...Sure. Whatever you like. I'm still learning."

They put Steve on a SHIELD jet that was going to DC that night anyway. He didn't recognize anyone on it but they certainly recognized him. Steve shared an awkward goodbye with Alex on the airport runway and then, with equally awkwardness, headed up into the SHIELD jet full of strangers. The minute he stepped on literally everyone stared at him, realized what they'd done and then tried to look busy and look anywhere _but_ him.

Steve didn't really have the energy to care. He just dropped down into one of the nearest seats and leaned his head back. Sitting down was his new favourite thing right now.

The other agents on the jet looked young, early twenties probably.  There were four of them, two betas and one of each status.  Practically babies.  Steve imagined they were still in training--

 _Ha_.   Steve caught himself. _He_ was in his early twenties.

But he wasn't.

The childish, blood-deprived part of him wanted to point that out to them.  Let them know that even though they all looked the same age, Steve was older, both literally and in life experience.  He bit his tongue. He didn't know what nearly getting kidnapped entitled him to but Steve figured he could at least get away with not being polite right now, if things came down to it.

They were whispering about him, _cute_. Most people didn't realise the serum boosted everything- including Steve's hearing.

_"...Do you really think that's-"_

_"...I dunno, he looks pretty roughed up._

_"Is that all_ his _blood?"_

 _No,_ Steve wanted to interject, _it's my baby's._ And then he felt a strange overwhelming need to cry. What would he have done if today hadn't happened? What would he and Tony done when they realised?

The worst thing was, Steve honestly didn't know, and now he was never going to find out. He just felt sick to his core and a little shaky. His stomach still ached with a phantom pain. Maybe if he'd been better he wouldn't have miscarried, maybe if he hadn't let Bucky throw him against that wall. Oh God, _Bucky..._

Steve leaned forward, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. He'd stopped listening to their conversation; he honestly didn't care.

"...er, Sir? I mean, Captain? Are you okay?"

"Do I _look_ okay to you kid?"

The boy, a beta recoiled a little, looking sheepish. "...that's why I asked."

"Sorry." Steve lifted up his head, fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes narrowed a fraction. "It's been a long day."

The recruits fell quiet then, clearly not knowing what to say. This probably wasn't how they imagined meeting him would be like, Steve figured but he was not in the mood for niceties. He could see all the questions in their eyes that they were too polite to ask and he had no intention of answering them.

"Hey, er... do you want me to bandage that up properly? I'm medical. It looks uncomfortable."

Steve looked over all of them and briefly thought about how weird it would be to take his trousers off in front of four new agents. "Yeah. Sure...go ahead."  One of the betas and the Alpha were ladies, too.  But the medic was right; the bandage on his leg had shifted a lot and it would need tightening to keep the swelling down. 

He let the medic re-dress the wound, keeping his legs pressed together except when absolutely necessary.  The rest of the flight was made in silence.

He could walk a lot better with the newer wrap, he noted as he stepped down off the jet. The kids hadn't asked for selfies or anything, thank God; they could tell Steve obviously wasn't in the mood. But he still shook their hands and wished them luck and offered the medic a special thank-you for his leg.

"Oh my God!"

Steve turned around to see a very horrified-looking Happy waiting for him on the tarmac. He looked Steve up and down, his eyes wide.

"Happy, I'm okay. I'm fine, really." He lifted up his hands to placate him.

Suddenly he felt like Tony. Steve had seen this scene play out more than a few times, although Tony had usually been drunk, not bloody.  "Where's Tony? Already there?"

"I dropped him off about half an hour ago," Happy said and blinked, moving to open the car door on automatic, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Steve. "Should I take you to hospital, Captain?"

"Already been," Steve waved off his concern and dropped into the backseat with a relieved sigh and a thank you. Even the car smelt like Tony a little.  It was comforting after the day he'd had. He curled into the seat, willing the smell to be stronger.

"Are you...going wearing that?"

"Don't have anything else," Steve pointed out.

"...fair enough. I mean, you'll certainly make an entrance."

Steve smiled, warmed by Happy's sense of humor. "That was exactly what I was going for."

The White House security team looked a little iffy about letting Steve in. Maybe he was hard to recognize, with all the blood. Steve wasn't sure. He really needed to find a bathroom to at least wash his face, and pronto.  "Come on, I'm Captain Steve Rogers!" he kept saying.

After a fair amount of arguing at the gate, they let the car through, and Happy dropped Steve off at the entrance.  "Knock 'em dead, Cap!" he called.

A butler of some sort greeted him whilst Happy took the car away. "Are you quite alright, Captain Rogers?" he asked, perfectly polite. He was an Alpha, mated, dressed in a clean pressed white suit. Steve thought he looked silly. But he wasn't looking at Steve with alarm, more concern.

"M'fine. Just need a bathroom. I'm sorry, I didn't have time to change into anything else. It's been a long day."

"I can have clothes fetched for you, Captain."

"Cool, can you?  That would be swell.  Where's Tony?"

"Down the hall, Captain. He and Ellis are having pre-dinner drinks, I believe."

"Thank you."

Steve was walking okay until he got to the door then his thigh was going stiff again. Urgh. Why wouldn't it just heal already?  Yeah, it had been less than twelve hours, but that wasn't the point.  Steve had a dinner to go to.  His body ought to heal one lousy bullet wound.

Steve braced a hand on the doorway before he made himself reach for the door. Was that Tony's voice? His heart leapt in his chest. He managed to get his fingers around the door handle and push it open.

And there were Ellis and Tony, dressed in immaculate suits. They both fell quiet, their eyes falling on him.

When the door finally opened and Steve stepped in, Tony was chatting with Ellis; his sense of relief at seeing Steve's face immediately turned to horror at seeing Steve was wearing jeans and a workout shirt and that both were caked in blood.  He was limping.

"Sorry I'm late," was all Steve could think to say in that moment.

The whole room went quiet.

"Steve," said Tony loudly, striding over.  "For the last time, it's a valet, not a car jacking!"  There were a few nervous giggles in the room; Tony was already embracing Steve.

Actually, if Steve had been a normal man, Tony's embrace would have been something very different.  Instinct had taken over and Tony had every intention of knocking him to the ground and standing protectively over him, growling at anyone who came near.  But Steve wasn't someone who could easily be pushed over so instead Tony's arms went around him and they looked like they were sharing a moment.  Tony's lips went to Steve's ear.  " _What happened?_ " he hissed.

"Erm..." Steve stared around the room a little panickedly. Everyone was staring and everyone looked important and he was standing there, covered in blood, looking like some sort of deranged bum. It wasn't a good look. He was almost embarrassed. People weren't judging him, however; they more looked alarmed. Steve really didn't look good and he was very much aware of that.

Steve hesitated at Tony's question. He could tell Tony the truth now, or he could wait, but he wasn't really sure he could lie or say it was nothing.  It wasn't nothing.

He needed his Alpha right now and he couldn't bear to lie to him. He swallowed.

Lips against Tony's ear, everything spilled out in a frantic whisper.  "HYDRA tried to kidnap me and kill Fury. I went to meet Nick at my old apartment and supposedly no one knew except us and maybe Pierce, who's on the WSC, but we got ambushed anyway.  They sent the Winter Soldier, who it turns out is also Bucky, and he hasn't aged a day. He doesn't even know who I am. I also found out that the nurse who lived down my hall is a SHIELD agent. Fury nearly died, I got him to an ER, where I found out I'd just had a miscarriage due to physical trauma."  Steve took a shuddering breath.  "...so, all in all, not a good day."

Tony pulled away very slowly and stared at Steve without moving.  The silence spooled out.

Steve had just spoken a bunch of words but they were nonsensical, frankly.

He threw back his martini like it was water, set it down on the nearest surface (a marble base supporting a bust), and dusted off his hands lightly.  "Well.  Let's get you cleaned up," he said, placing a hand in the small of Steve's back.  "Please excuse me, gentlemen," he added, nodding pleasantly to Ellis and Rodriguez.

They stepped into the hall.

"--sorry, did you said--- I'm sorry, I didn't follow.  You-- HYDRA-- Fury-- _what_?  What do you mean, you--"  Tony couldn't say the word so he just gave an elaborate gesture toward Steve.

He debated whether he should call Pepper.  She would know what to do.  This was way too much info to process on his own and he was already a couple of drinks in.

"--you're in _jeans_ ," he finished.  "The-- the head of WORC is in there and-- and-- _Bucky_ ?"  He grabbed a potted plant to steady himself but just turned it over onto the Persian rug, spilling dirt everywhere.  " _Fuck_ that plant!" he declared, to save face.  He was breathing a little too hard.

Everything Steve had said was impossible.  First of all, Bucky couldn't be alive and unaged.  That was _impossible_.  He couldn't deal with that.  Why the fuck would HYDRA want to kidnap Steve?  How could Fury (who Tony suspected was a robot in the first place) be nearly dead?  And how could Steve miscarry if he'd had a vasectomy back in '89?  Okay, fine, it was a few thousand pesos in a very shady Tijuana clinic but...

Panic was setting in, hard.  He'd spent all day ignoring the panic flowing through him and now Steve showed up, covered in blood--

The smell was raw in Tony's nose.

"Tony. Tony, breathe me. Just breathe," Steve crouched down in front of Tony so their eyes were level, wincing as he leaned on his injured leg. "Oh. I also got shot, but that's... not important right now."

"You got _shot_ ?" repeated Tony in horror, his voice going higher pitched than either of them were aware of. 

He leaned into Steve, heavily, gripping his upper arms.  His legs were threatening to buckle under him.

He'd spent all day tinkering in the shop, trying to tie a bowtie, and watching reruns of _Top Gear_ on a private jet, and meanwhile, Steve was getting shot at.  And _Bucky_ , Bucky was _alive_ and _not a day older_ and _powerful as fuck_ and _coming after his pregnant omega._

Steve moved to cup Tony's cheeks and make him look at him. "Look at me. Okay? Look at me. They didn't get me. They tried and they _failed_ . They sent their best and they caught us by surprise and they _still_ didn't get me. I'm here. I came straight to you."

"You got _shot_ ," repeated Tony, voice threatening to hit a range only audible to dogs.

"Please, Tony, don't drift away from me now," Steve pressed their foreheads together. "This day has been hell.  When our--" He stopped short.  When our baby left me, he had been going to say. 

Steve's next words were like a punch to the gut.  "When our--"echeod Tony.  It went unsaid but they were both thinking it.

The butler was suddenly there with them, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.  "...clothes for you, Captain?" he offered, holding up a dry cleaning bag on a hanger.  "These should fit.  I'm... sorry to interrupt..."

Tony made a wheezing sound at him and an elaborate gesture.  He was clinging to Steve, whose bad leg was trembling under him; both of them were digging their fingers into the other's skin.  Steve reached out automatically to accept the clothes.

 _He's wrong_.  That was the childish thought that was keeping Tony from dropping.  He had to be wrong.  There had to be a mistake.  Tony's brain was already scrambling for an explanation.  Maybe Steve hadn't really miscarried, maybe he was wrong somehow.  Maybe it wasn't Bucky, it was just... just a guy who looked like him, a HYDRA trick...

His first instinct, to push Steve down and stand over him protectively, was throbbing through him.  He wanted to tear someone's head off.

Why hadn't Iron Man been there?  Why the fuck hadn't he realized what Steve was going through?  He had spent all day drinking and dicking around.

"Come on," he wheezed.  "Come on, we gotta-- gotta get you dressed, gotta-- get in there--"

Okay.  This was fine.  He was fine.  He was panicking, yes, but he'd been through worse.  There were a dozen people in there, senators and ambassadors and dignitaries, who wanted Captain America.  And Tony wasn't going about to go to pieces in the White House foyer.

The butler was trying to look small and inconspicuous as he swept up the soil from the plant Tony had overturned.  In part because it was his job, but also because, as an Alpha, Tony's pheromones were ones of pure aggression.  If the president or the vice president hadn't been betas, Tony would have considered simply leaving.  He was teetering on the brink of ferality.  But he wasn't about to lose it, not here, anyway.  Steve had a dream and God damn it, they were going to fulfill that dream.

"Come on... come on, let's get you cleaned up, I've got you, we've got this..."

Tony's brain was already compartmentalizing everything.  He wasn't thinking about anything but the next five or ten minutes.  Cram Steve into a tuxedo, and they could get back in there and he could have another drink.  That was as far as his brain was operating.  Objective: get Steve to his dinner.  Reward: a drink.  Two drinks.  Ten drinks.  It was open bar and Tony had never needed a drink more in his life.

"...do... do you know how to tie a bowtie?" asked Tony as they ducked into a private bathroom.  Everything was white ceramic and gold gilding and Tony's voice sounded hollow and echo-y to him.  He couldn't help but laugh at the inappropriateness of the question, given the circumstances.

"No," Steve realised as soon as Tony asked. He didn't think he'd ever worn a bow tie in his life. He slumped against a sink with a ragged breath, staying close to Tony as he got out the suit. His hands were shaking a little. Steve could understand why. He pulled off his shirt and they both went still.

His ribs were bruised and his neck... dark, thick, finger-shaped bruises arched around the back of his neck. They were an ugly purple color. Steve trembled when he looked in the mirror.

No, Bucky...the Bucky he knew would have never done that.

What had they done to him? _How dare they_.

Tony focused on getting Steve out of his clothes and into a tux.  His let his entire concentration be absorbed by the task.  It made it a lot easier to handle when Steve pulled off his shirt and he saw the bruises.  He paused for a moment and then went back to it, methodically, carefully buttoning Steve up.  Steve's movements were all too stiff.  The bandage on his leg looked white and clean.

With Tony's help he got into trousers, both of their hands shaky when they tried to tuck in the shirt. Steve laughed quietly, sadly. He wanted to cry again, partly in relief. His shoulders shook. Steve was with his Alpha.  He was safe. He leaned his head on Tony's shoulder and they stood like that for a moment, Steve's face pressed against his neck.

"I d-don't..." He tried to speak. Steve swallowed. "There was a moment today when I thought I was never going to see you again."

"Okay... okay, you look okay..." murmured Tony quietly.  Steve had leaned his head on Tony's shoulder, an awkward position for him, considering their heights.  Tony reached up to stroke the back of his neck.

"It's okay... I got you... we're okay..." murmured Tony soothingly.  The words were without any real meaning, just comforting white noise.  Steve's body was stiff and shaking.  Tony was shaking, too.

He reached up to undo his bowtie.  Neither of them could tie Steve's.  So instead they'd match like this, look cool and casual.  Whatever.

Tony was already berating himself silently.  He should've been there.  He should've known.

But he didn't voice that aloud because it wouldn't help Steve right now.  Right now, he needed held and comforted and that was literally the very least Tony could provide.

They stood there in the bathroom for several long, long minutes.

Finally, gently, Tony reached around to take Steve's jaw and tilt his head up.

"You're Captain America.  You're a badass, Steve.  Maybe even more than I am.  We're unstoppable, okay?  You wanna go home now, we can do that.  You wanna go in there and rub shoulders with Irshad from the WORC and Ellis, talk about safe spaces-- ironic, by the way, considering-- I'll be behind you every step of the way.  You're in charge here.  I'm with you now.  We're together and we got this, right?"

He took Steve's hand and squeezed.

Questions were for later.

Steve stared at Tony's fingers curled around his own for at least a minute, saying nothing.

"I'll stay," he murmured. "If anything, just for the food. I'm starving." Steve looked up into Tony's eyes and felt warmth. He felt _home_. His brushed his finger's against his mate's cheek almost hesitantly. He remembered holding the gun to his own head. He remembered the chilly barrel pressed against clammy skin. He remembered being prepared to pull the trigger to stop HYDRA from taking him.

And now he was here with his Alpha and it was like a whole new world.

He brushed their lips together. The gesture was intimate, comforting.

"I love you." Steve sighed. "I need you to know that." He nuzzled against Tony's cheek and then reluctantly pulled back. He fixed his hair in the mirror; thankfully none of it was pink with blood. There was no bruises in sight (unless you looked closely at his knuckles). Steve, considering, really looked rather good. But they all saw him arrive already; he was fooling nobody.

"I think I killed five people today," he said quietly. "But I don't...actually remember."

"Hey," said Tony gently.  He wasn't sure where he was going with that, so he just repeated it.  "...hey."

Tony had killed men before.  Lots of men, actually.  They said you never forgot.  But Tony's first slaughter had been in the Mark 1, which lacked any of the fancy HUD display of the later models.  Functionally, it had pretty much been a weaponized medieval suit of armor.  Tony had been mostly blind and deaf in it, and he'd crunched through bodies and wasted a whole camp with missiles and fire, and never given it a second thought.  He'd easily wasted like, a hundred, two hundred people.  Maybe more. Who knew?  Tony didn't really feel like a person in the suit.  He didn't consider that blood on his hands.  The six people who had died at the Expo... those lives mattered a hell of a lot more to him than the hundreds left dead in the desert, somewhere near Kunar.

"Let's get some shrimp in you," said Tony finally, pretending to straighten Steve's still-undone bowtie.  The two didn't meet each other's eyes as they exited the bathroom together, but their hands were laced, and their grips on each other firm.


	5. Dinner at the White House, part II

Hands in hand, Steve and Tony walked slowly back into the dinner party to mingle.

"...is everything okay?" asked President Ellis. His face was lined with concern.

Tony's grip on Steve's hand didn't loosen.  "He's _Captain America_ ," he replied, cocking an eyebrow.  He grabbed a passing omega with his unoccupied hand.  "Hey, can I get a martini.  Four martinis.  Get this guy some appetizers too, will ya?"

Ellis didn't look remotely convinced but he didn't press the matter. He still glanced over Steve with some alarm, however, as if he was trying to work out where all the blood had gone, or where it'd been coming from. Maybe he could see a bruise poking out the top of Steve's collar. If he could, he was polite enough not to mention it. "Bad day at the office?" was all he said as he sipped at his own drink.

Steve managed a smile, but anyone who knew him well enough would see that it didn't meet his eyes. "Something like that."

"Here, let me introduce you-"

Ellis beckoned a woman over. She had blonde short hair, green eyes and a green dress to match. She looked absolutely terrific. She was an omega and smiled sweetly as she offered her hand. _Old fashioned_ , Steve thought, but he complied and kissed the back of it. She almost blushed. "This is Louisa, my wife. She's a massive fan of yours."

Louisa laughed and it was a lovely sound. "Who isn't? It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain."

"And you." The smile Steve offered her was kinder. Her presence was warm; she made him feel strangely better in this room of strangers. He guessed that was almost her job as First Lady.

"And how are you finding the 21st century, Captain?"

Steve laughed, not quite sure what to say. "Not as different as you might think..."

"Stark."

"Stern."

The two men stood by while Steve chatted.  Tony wouldn't let go of Steve's hand, so in order for the two of them to have separate conversations, they were twisted at a weird angle, like in some sitcom where two characters had been accidentally handcuffed together.

"...surprised you're not gloating," said Stern after a moment while Tony swallowed down two martinis in less than a minute and instructed one of the waiters floating around to keep them coming.

"...about what?" demanded Tony.

"...Hammer's trial.  The total lack of consequences following that stint in Malibu back in May.  The fact you're getting _awarded_ for that disaster at _your_ expo."

"Oh.  That.  All good things," agreed Tony.  He hadn't been aware he was getting awarded or that Hammer had an upcoming trial.  He sipped his drink, letting the world soften around him, trying not to think about Steve covered in blood or getting shot at or--

Stern was studying him closely, his hang-dog face a perfect portrait of his name.  "...I guess it's true.  Bonding really does change a man."

Tony nodded.  "Guess it does," he agreed.  He felt a lump form in his throat at the thought of losing Steve.  Of going back to a life of opulent parties without meaning.  His grip on Steve's hand tightened a little.  "Please excuse me," he said with uncharacteristic politeness, and turned to where Steve was chatting up the president and his wife.

"...legislation for public safe spaces, starting with state universities," the first lady was saying.  Steve was nodding.  Tony nodded too even though he couldn't care less and didn't know what they were talking about.  "Oh, you really have to meet Irshad, she's on the draft committee-- Irshad, come here, meet Captain Rogers..."

Irshad ( _first name?  last name?_ wondered Tony) glided over.  She was wearing dress pants and a blue button-up blouse that matched her hijab.  She shook Steve's hand, then extended one to Tony.  Tony didn't move.  He hated shaking hands and his hand was occupied with Steve's.  She dropped her hand after a moment.

"A pleasure, Captain," she said.

Tony had never thought he'd meet an omega more self-assured or powerful than Steve, but Irshad _radiated_ it.  She was like a damn furnace of dominant hormones.  She was five feet of omega fury.  Tony and Steve towered over her, but she had a posture that demanded attention.

Several unmated Alphas were watching her with fascination; one of them had already spilled a drink.  She ignored them.  Tony couldn't tell if she was bonded or not; the only thing he was getting from her is that she was at the top of the pheromonal hierarchy and was not to be messed with.  She was eyeing Steve, sniffing almost inperceptively.  Tony would have loved to see her and Natasha square off.  He felt like she was reading them with her nose; everything about her radiated an almost feral energy and Tony knew immediately why she was the head of the world's large omega rights organization.

"I heard about the Leo Rothstein charity.  I'm impressed.  The WORC would like to match funds with you.  In this country, there's a tragic lack of access to basic resources for our status.  I spoke with the chairman of the Horseshoe Council-- that's another omega rights watchdog org-- and they're on board as well," she said firmly.  "Whenever you and Stark set up your benefits dinner-- I spoke to Miss Potts about it last week-- let us know and we'll pitch in."

President Ellis laughed a little awkwardly.  "Now, I thought this was supposed to be a friendly little get-together to celebrate a new bond.  No politics, please, it disagrees with me."

"These aren't politics.  They're human rights," she replied, eyes blazing.

Tony choked on an olive.  Someone whacked him on the back until he coughed it back into his drink.

"...what a remarkable woman," said Stern behind him.

"Damn, Steve, you better watch out.  She's dynamite," whispered Tony into Steve's ear.

Irshad was shooing away a waiter with a plate of shrimp; she apparently didn't eat meat, or at least shellfish.  Tony hooked the waiter with his free hand and pulled him over to Steve, who had been tearing through appetizers like they were nothing.  To be fair, with a metabolism four times faster than everyone else's, they would have been nothing even on a day when Steve hadn't eaten.  When he hadn't lost a lot of blood.  When he hadn't been running for his life.

Tony felt a shudder run up his spine.

Irshad leaned in to Steve and Tony conspiratorially.  "I'm sorry for your loss.  I think it's very brave of you to come here through it."

"What--" began Tony, then it hit him all over again.  He choked on another olive; Stern slapped him on the back and took away his drink.

"Think you've had enough, huh?" he said.

Before Tony could reply, Senator Ross was grabbing him and peeling him away from Steve.  "Tony!  Great to see you.  Mind if I pick that brain of yours about Project 42?"

Tony cast a look over at Steve and Irshad, heart throbbing, but he nodded numbly and let himself be dragged away.  He decided to switch to a drink without any garnish for the rest of the night.

Steve thought he might be in love. Just a little bit. Irshad reminded him of Peggy; she had the same sort of fire. She happily put all these Alphas in their place without batting an eyelid and when she shut Ellis up about politics Steve wanted to kiss her. Not like _that_ , he just... she was amazing. She was everything an omega could be; she was proof that they were worth it. She was exactly the kind of role model Steve just wished he could have had growing up.

When she mentioned a _loss_ Steve was taken back, however. Maybe it was omega intuition, or maybe she worked out what all the blood was from before. He didn't know. He didn't ask.

"I didn't, erm, actually realize until..."

Irshad's expression broke a little. She put a hand on his arm. Her fingernails were painted a deep blue. "I'm so very sorry Captain." She sounded like she meant it, her words heavy, like she knew how he felt. She very well might, Steve realized.

He swallowed and offered an awkward smile that was more sincere than other facial expression he'd worn this evening. "Makes the decision easier, doesn't it?"

"But it doesn't make it easier to live with," Irshad pointed out softly. Her drink looked sweet, some kind of fruit juice concoction that was littered with pomegranate seeds on top. She changed the subject smoothly. "I was impressed with your interviews, by the way, especially considering you only just woke up here. And, for the record, my mother always told me you were an O."

Steve's eyes lit up at that. "Really?"

"Mhm. It was just to help me to sleep at night on the bad days; she of course didn't really know...but when I found out I wasn't even surprised. Why should any of us be?"

"Right; absolutely," Steve breathed.

"Mind if I cut in?"

The man looked a little over fifty. Irshad didn't appear to recognize him. He looked familiar to Steve.

"Captain Rogers, we haven't formally met yet. My name is Alexander Pierce. I hope you've heard about me from SHIELD," he greeted him and held out a hand. He was a bonded Alpha of medium dominance. Steve knew his name too; he was someone Fury actually answered to occasionally. Steve took the offered hand and shook it firmly.

"And you are?" asked Pierce, casting a look over at Irshad.

"Irshad, I'm the president of the WORC." They shook hands too. It was all very formal.  Steve caught a small frown from Pierce and he wondered if SHIELD was unhappy with him for getting too "political."  As if he could help it.

"Heard you had a spot of bother today," Pierce said through a tight smile, turning back to Steve. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He didn't really sound very sorry, Steve thought.

Steve shrugged. "All in a day's work, sir."

Pierce smiled a little more.  "Aren't we lucky to have the Cap back," he said.  "Ah, here's Gideon... Steve Rogers, meet Gideon Malick, also on the WSC... we've all heard quite an impressive bit about you from Director Fury..."  Gideon was also a bonded Alpha, medium-high dominance, an older man with grey hair but a surprising spring in his step.

"Are there any omegas on the WSC?" asked Irshad calmly, sipping her drink.

Pierce's smile didn't waver.  "No.  There are not," he said flatly.

"Hmm," she said, fixing him with an intense glare.

Across the room, Tony was trying to wheedle a drink out of the bartender, who looked hesitantly to serve him, considering he was hanging on to the bar for dear life and was clearly drunk.

"...you know, Captain, there's quite a few opportunities for you to improve the world, and not _just_ for omegas," said Pierce.  "We ought to get together and talk sometime about that."

"I think we should maybe let omegas catch up first," butted in Irshad, who was planted on the carpet and seemed unwilling to be butted out of the conversation.

"I think we can all agree that the world really had improved quite a bit for everyone," said Louisa Ellis, firmly, diplomatically.

"I'll drink to that," said Gideon.

"To world peace," said Pierce, holding up his drink.

"...should we sit down?  Stark looks like he's had about enough," said Matthew Ellis worriedly, casting a glance over at the bar, where Tony was demanding the bartender mix "a pizza shot," whatever that was.

"Here.  Take my card," said Pierce, handing Steve a card.  His phone buzzed; he checked it, then looked up apologetically.  "Excuse me, gentlemen.  I have to take this."  He turned and walked off, jerking his head for Gideon to follow.

* * *

"Do you want me to fix it?" asked Dr. Liebmann into the phone.  He nodded while the person on the other line spoke.

The asset was sitting on a stainless steel table, staring straight ahead, waiting.  They'd promised to take him to Karpov once they'd looked him over.  The doctor had removed the bullets from his shoulder and stitched up the wound in his hip.  He hadn't used anesthetic; no point.

The asset had a yellow ball he was rolling idly back and forth on the bench's surface next to him.  Its rubber surface was smooth against his palm.

"Mm-hm... well... might be worth freezing just in case.  He's the next best thing."  A pause.  "A partially detached optic nerve, some broken teeth.  I can have him back in ship-shape by morning, if you want."  Another pause.  "...I would waive my usual fee for some blood draws and behavioral testing.  He's really quite fascinating."  He reached over to pat the asset on the head.  He didn't react.

"Very good... thank you, sir... hail HYDRA."  The doctor hung up the phone and turned to the asset, smiling.  "Well, aren't you lucky to see another day.  And I get some dentistry practice.  So it looks like everyone's having a good day... except Pierce."  He chuckled a little and crossed the room to pull open a drawer and grab an armful of instruments.  "Come on, now," he instructed, jerking his head.

The asset didn't move.

"You don't want to go see Karpov with one eye and a mouthful of broken teeth, do you?"

The asset shook his head.  He pocketed the yellow ball and hopped off the bench to follow him.

* * *

 Steve found he liked Gideon Malick even less than Pierce, but he still greeted him with a smile and a handshake. This was all about pleasantries after all, wasn't it? Irshad did not put on a smile for either of them, however. Steve admired her for that.  He wasn't sure why he didn't like these men and supposed it might just been a natural wariness around older male Alphas.  This wasn't unlike the last time he had been at the White House; Howard Stark and Franklin Roosevelt had got ragingly drunk together while Steve had sat, bored, in a corner.  No one had served him alcohol because of his status and despite his size he had felt small.

"I cannot wait for that generation to be behind us," commented Irshad as the Alphas strolled away. Steve hummed dryly.

"Careful.  Pretty sure that's _my_ generation." He glanced over to Tony by the bar.  He was looking a little worse for wear, and who could blame him? If Steve could get drunk he would drowning every one of his sorrows right now.  Not to mention the ache in his stomach and the stab in his leg.  It really was troublesome that painkillers stopped working on him within the first ten minutes. "Please excuse me," he murmured and then slipped away to Tony's side.

The hand on his mate's arm was a tender, but steadying touch. "Maybe you should slow down. He'll have water," he told the barman, who looked incredibly grateful at Steve's taking over.

Tony huffed indignantly.  Steve couldn't know his reputation for drinking.  Tony showed up to conferences all the time, got plastered, and still gave wildly intelligent lectures on circuits and aerospace.  He was the whiz kid!  Also, how bad did it look for an omega to be ordering him around?

"I almost didn't make it to the dinner; doesn't mean you get an excuse to cut it close too," Steve said, tone good-natured. He thanked the man for the water then pressed it into his Alpha's hand. "Drink. Seriously. You'll feel better. God knows how many courses this will be, you don't want to eat on a jumped up stomach."

Tony didn't protest; he took the water and drank it gratefully.  "Okay.  Fine.  ...what's your problem with Pierce and Malick?  I can feel you, you know.  If you were an Alpha, your dander would've been up."  (Omegas lacked the muscles Alphas had on the back of their necks; if they'd had them, breaking the bonding gland would have been rendered impossible.)  "Aren't they SHIELD guys?  Or something?  I think they're Fury's bosses."  He leaned into Steve, throwing an arm around his waist for stability.  "...is he gonna be okay?" he asked worriedly.

Fury being shot was one of the few elements of Steve's story Tony didn't feel the need to compartmentalize.  He didn't know Fury well.  He certainly didn't wish him any ill will, but it wasn't close enough to home to bother him.  Steve being shot or hurt was another matter.  Tony was already coping with that in the only way he knew how: through denial and compartmentalization, laced with as much alcohol as he could physically drink.

People were beginning to file through into the dining hall. Steve only hoped he wouldn't be sat next to anyone too pretentious. He squeezed Tony's elbow. "I'm sure he'll be fine.  He's Nick Fury, after all.  C'mon.  I think we're being summoned."

As Steve helped guide him into the dining hall, he noticed Pierce checking his phone.

"Hey!  You coming in?"

Pierce glanced up.  "Just need to take a few calls, to my mechanic.  Someone messed up... well, you know what they say.  If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

"That's a remarkable insight," said Tony.  It was unclear if he was being sarcastic or not, even to him.

As they sat down at a table draped with a white cloth, Tony groped for Steve's hand under the table.  He picked his way miserably through a salad, barely eating.  How could he?  He was occupied with keeping himself under control.  Not an easy task.  Steve's words kept floating up like ghosts, and with them came all the questions.  Who had shot Steve?  Who had shot Fury?  How could Bucky be alive?  How could Steve have been--

He tried to distract himself by staring at the other guests, tracking their minute movements.  Pierce didn't come in until the main course was being served.  He didn't look happy; the hair on the back of his neck kept rising and he kept reaching up with irritation to flatten it. _He's having as much of a bad day as we are,_ thought Tony grimly.

More than anything, he wanted to call Pepper.  She'd know what to do, she always did.  She was the only one he felt comfortable talking about this.  Was this normal?  How was he supposed to feel?  What was he supposed to do?  He wanted to be there for Steve but the volley of information Steve had given him had been overwhelming, and he wasn't sure which part to focus on.

Throughout dinner, everyone was talking politely and pleasantly about various aspects of their lives.  Rodriguez's daughter had taken up flute lessons.  Louisa Ellis had a funny story about her sister, also an omega, who had bonded to an Alpha and gotten a very rare emerald orchid that, it turned out, was merely a white orchid that someone had dyed.  Irshad had recently given a lecture at Culver University, where General Ross had a daughter.  Everyone was very careful not to ask why, exactly, Steve had shown up an hour late and covered in blood.  It just wasn't polite.  The conversation touched lightly a few times on omega rights, which Tony struggled to look interested in even though he could barely follow.

"Can I order another drink now?" he whispered to Steve, nudging him.  This was too hard to do sober.  The only two people in the world with the authority to stop him from drinking, previously, had been Obadiah and Pepper.  He hadn't needed a drink like this since May.

"Tony. You're your own person, I'm _not_ going to stop you. But I'd appreciate it if you weren't completely gone by the time we go home." Steve didn't want to end the night with a drunk Tony; he wanted his mate to be there for him, not drunk. And if Tony didn't feel like eating, then he wasn't going to sober up through out the evening, either.

Steve kept a firm hold of his hand, even if Tony's grip on his fingers was a little crushing. It was a grounding touch, he found. Steve squeezed a little tighter when a spasm jarred across his stomach again but his face gave away nothing. Irshad shot him a worried look from where she was sat two seats away from him. He offered her a small smile.

"I wonder, how did you two meet?" Pierce asked warmly from their left, the conversation drifting away to something else at the other side of the table. "When I heard you two had bonded, I had to admit I was quite surprised. You strike me as very different people."

 _You don't know me at all,_ was what Steve wanted to say. But instead he settled with: "They say opposites attract, don't they? Besides, I think we have more in common than people think."

"And how did you two meet, again?"

Now more people were listening. They were probably expecting some romantic and heartfelt story. Steve wasn't sure if lying was better or being honest was. So he paraphrased:

"We...met through SHIELD," he said.  He tried for a smile.  "Come on, Mr. Pierce, you're on the World Security Council.  I'm sure you know better than anyone how we met."

"We're not _that_ different," cut in Tony.  "We're both brilliant, good-looking, patriotic, good in bed..."

Several people chuckled indulgently.

"Oh, come on, you can't just gloss over how you met.  It's the love story of the decade!  Come on.  Tell us all about it," insisted a woman across the table.  "We don't all have the benefit of being on the World Security Council, you know."

Tony glanced over toward Steve.  Steve knew SHIELD better than he did, and with two members of the World Security Council seated at their table, Tony didn't want to start blathering about Steve's undercover missions.

It was Irshad that saved them.  "The rumor is that Captain Rogers was undercover to monitor the Iron Man situation.  Correct?"

"Yeah, well, you know me, Mr. Accountability," said Tony.  "I'm lucky they sent me Steve 'cause otherwise I would've been toast in Monaco."

"Except you thought Steve was just some run-of-the-mill personal assistant?" asked Irshad pointedly.

Tony considered this for a moment.  "...yeah," he admitted.  "You know what?  Steve never lied to me.  He wasn't really undercover.  He was just himself, and I was so fucking prejudiced-- excuse my language, Mrs. First Lady-- that all I saw was an omega.  I didn't ever realize that he was Captain America, standing right there in front of me.  And Steve is a humble guy, and he never mentioned it, and it never came up, and I treated him like shit for weeks.  That's how deep status bias can run.  But it turned out better that way because I got to know Steve as a real person, not as some national symbol.  And once I started seeing him like that, as a person... I realized what a big asshole I was and how prejudiced I was and... I'm real lucky he showed up to set me straight," he finished, rubbing his thumb over Steve's hand under the table.

"Aww," said several people.  Irshad looked impressed.  The lone reporter at their table was scribbling frantically.

Tony glanced over at Steve, searching for his approval.  Strictly speaking, Steve _had_ lied.  He'd lied on his CV, lied about his credentials, lied about his date of birth... but Tony felt the story he told was better, if not _entirely_ honest.  It exonerated Steve, at least.

Steve was pleasantly surprised by Tony's version of events. They weren't entirely true, no but it still an oddly romantic tale. Sure, they left out Steve's deception, Tony nearly dying, his first heat, Tony slapping his ass on the plane and Steve resisting the urge to accidentally break his wrist...but he didn't bring those things up. He wouldn't. Tony's story was cute and in the end the truth was embedded in it. They fell in love, does it really matter how? Steve squeezed back against Tony's fingers in a silent approval, blue eyes a touch softer than  they had been before. He figured he probably looked a little love sick.

"A touching story," said Pierce.  "...and surprising, that you weren't already bonded, Captain.  Considering the era you grew up in."

"Lucky for me," said Tony quickly.  He dislike the way Pierce was eyeing Steve, like he was trying to figure something out, but he was pretty sure it was just the drink.  He was trying to pace himself, for Steve, but God, it was hard.  He kept thinking about the white bandage on Steve's leg, under his pants, the bullet wound... someone had _shot_ at him…

" _I_ was very lucky," Steve breathed. Off the top of his head he could probably count about ten different scenarios where he'd almost been taken and lost his 'virtue', as it was called back then, and only gotten away by the skin of his teeth.  And that wasn't even counting all the sticky situations Bucky had gotten him out of. Sure, he owed a hell of a lot to Bucky but he also owed a lot to _chance_ and that thought alone was chilling. The fact that Steve had ended up where he was... it was a goddamn miracle. "Most of my peers weren't."

Steve had had a lot of omega friends, but most of them had fallen away, one by one.  Bonded, mated, and cooped up at home as perfect houseomegas bearing happy, healthy whelps. Steve had never envied them.

Steve didn't appreciate the way Pierce was looking at him, either. Even though Tony was the lowest dominance Alpha in the room, having his mate beside him made Steve feel... safer.  It was a silly notion.  This wasn't a back alley in the 1930s and Tony wasn't Bucky, yet Steve found he felt the same feeling of discomfort being around all these Alphas, and having his mate there, "guarding" him, was a comfort.

"Quite," Alexander hummed, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

Steve smiled politely, saying nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. There was something dangerous glinting behind blue eyes.  He was almost daring anyone to ask about life in his century.  No one did.

Tony managed to choke down half of the main course and rewarded himself with another martini.  He was aching for the whole mess to be over.  Steve was on edge and it was putting _him_ on edge, and he and Alexander Pierce kept glaring at each other and he wasn't sure why.  He didn't know Pierce well, although he knew enough.  The guy had turned down a Nobel Peace Prize and he was Fury's boss, for crying out loud.  He got the impression Pierce was just asking the wrong questions and Steve was looking for someone to be hostile to, but considering the exclusivity of the dinner, Tony wished he'd calm down a little.  Maybe Steve was just upset because Pierce was an incredibly dominant Alpha and Steve had been groped the last time he was at the White House.  Maybe that was it.

On the bright side, thanks to Steve's dramatic entrance, no one was asking him why he seemed so hostile.  Every Alpha and omega in the room could tell.  But, luckily, both the president and his vice president were betas, so they were unaware.  (Tony had no doubt in his mind, though, that Louisa would clue her husband in once they were in private.  Betas who were in relationships with either status always got clued in eventually to what they were missing.)

"So," asked the reporter pleasantly, "are you two planning on starting a family anytime soon?"

It was an innocent question-- she was a beta-- but Tony felt like she might as well have reached across the table and slapped him.  How the fuck did he respond to that?  Tony had no concept of "family."  His parents had been distant and he'd lost them long ago.  He had no siblings.  Technically, he supposed, he and Steve were "family" because they were pair-bonded, but there had been no ceremony and no plan; it had just happened.  Tony had never had a family and never really wanted one.

He knew what she was really getting at.  Whether or not they'd have kids.

Malick and Pierce both looked overly interested and their gaze turned to Steve.

Malick's phone went off, thankfully buying a couple of seconds of time for Tony and Steve.

"Sorry, excuse me.  That's likely my mechanic," said Malick to Pierce.

"What, do you guys share a car or something?" asked Tony, but Malick ignored him and took the call outside, leaving the table and the reporter's question still dangling over it.

* * *

The centerpiece of the room was a stainless steel table, harshly lit by a single, bare bulb.  He wasn't sure if he'd been unconscious, but he didn't really remember getting here.  He was sitting up, gripping the edge of the table.  Across from him there was a sink and there was a man on the phone by the sink.

Next to him was a magazine.  Had he been reading it?

The man on the phone was short, balding, and wore glasses.  He was wearing a white coat with a small, brown spot on the lower right corner that he recognized instantly as dried blood.  He couldn't stop staring at it.  His vision was focused but he had the most terrible, harsh pain behind one of his eyes and his whole mouse felt like it was on fire.

Behind the man on the phone  were two women.  Nurses?  Assistants?  They were pretty, but blank-faced and silent.  Like robots.

"I'd like to run a few more tests to make sure," the doctor was saying, hooking a finger into his mouth and opening it.  "But I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.  No real lasting damage.  He'll be ready for you within the week."  He peered into his mouth, then turned away, still on the phone.  They were talking about arranging payment.

His accent was vaguely Eastern European, maybe, but he couldn't recognize it.  He felt guilty for listening to the man's conversation on the phone so he picked up the magazine and pretending to be interested in it, even though he wasn't reading anything in particular.

A picture caught his eye.  There was a blond man and a man with dark hair and a small beard sitting in a restaurant together.  He stared at them.

"I know him," he said, looking up, pointing to the glossy picture with his finger.  The doctor didn't hear him, he was arguing about money.

One of the women looked down at the picture he was pointing to.  "Everyone knows him.  That's Captain America," she said.  Her accent was much thicker than the doctor's.

"No.  The other one.  Howard," he said.  He studied the picture closely.  Howard was dressed weird.  A suit, yes.  But the style was strange and unfamiliar.  And he'd only had a mustache before, not a beard.  But it was definitely him.

He squinted harder.  Captain America.

His heart fluttered excitedly in his chest.

He couldn't understand how he hadn't seen Captain America first.   _That was the blond guy he was supposed to take alive by any means necessary!_

_He'd found him!  He'd found one of his objectives!  Right here in front of him!_

It was a miracle.

His eyes darted across the page.  He ignored the stabbing headache behind his bad eye.  It was no longer fuzzy.

 _Captain America and his Alpha, Tony Stark, share an intimate moment at Mastro's Ocean Club,_ read the caption.

Whoever had captioned it had gotten Howard's name wrong, which he found amusing, and had also incorrectly assumed that Howard was bonded to Captain America.  He knew better.

Captain America's face was... it was like home.  He felt an intense draw to him.  Like they'd known each other all their lives. He felt the same way about Captain America that he felt about Colonel Karpov.

He tore out the picture and put it in his pocket along with the yellow ball.  He didn't like Howard (he couldn't remember why but he had a vague idea that the guy was an arrogant, showboating jerk), but he liked Captain America a lot.  He wanted to go find him.  Well, obviously, he had to, because that was his objective.  But even if it wasn't, he would have wanted to, anyway.  And now he had a lead.  Maybe if he could take the blond and kill the one-eyed man, he'd be forgiven and they wouldn't make Karpov retire.

No one had let him see Karpov yet and he was getting impatient.  He needed to his his handler and confirm his mission objectives.  And then... then he could fix this.  He had found his target.  He could complete his mission, after all.

* * *

That was probably the worst question they could have asked him. Steve felt cold and he went still. _Anytime soon_. He still remembered the hot rush of blood down his right leg as he'd stood, his arms trembling with the weight of Fury in his arms. He'd known as soon as he'd felt it that something was wrong inside of him. Something had broken. Tony's hand around his was about the only thing stopping him from crying in that moment, which felt pretty pathetic in all honesty.

He realized his simulation had tried to tell him. When he'd woken up in the HYDRA facility...something had felt strange in his stomach. His body had been trying to tell him he was pregnant even when he didn't even know it then. If only he'd realized sooner, maybe he would have been more careful, maybe he would have had the choice...

Fuck, he totally would have kept it, wouldn't he?

"Well, we've kind of got our hands full at the moment," Steve pointed out with a quiet, forced laugh that was soon echoed by the rest of the table.

"But how about in the future?" She pressed.

"You never know what's going to happen," Steve shrugged simply. Irshad tactically changed the subject:

"Most people like to focus on their careers in early life first," she pointed out. "Steve is still young."

"But Stark isn't, is he? The age difference is quite significant, isn't it," Pierce commented harmlessly. "Whichever way you go."

"Hey!" said Tony, slightly offended.  He didn't consider himself to be old.  "I'm only.... thirty mumble.  Hey, look, my old man didn't have me until he was in his fifties.  And Steve's not young, he's ninety-three.  ...but I mean, yeah, no, he should focus on his career, though."  Tony was all too aware of the slight note of alarm in his voice.  He didn't want kids.  He'd never wanted kids.  Never planned for them.  He was more upset that Steve had been pregnant at all than that they'd miscarried.  He couldn't wrap his brain around it.  They'd taken a test, hadn't they?  And Steve... Steve was supposed to be infertile, wasn't he?  And Tony had never had this problem before... as far as he knew, anyway.

The worst part was feeling the disappointment and loss and sadness roll off of Steve.  Tony wanted his mind to shut up, for once, but snapshots snuck in.  Images of Steve chasing around a toddler, playing with them, tucking them into bed.  Steve would probably be a great parent, just like he was a great everything.  But in Tony's imagination, there was no place for him.  At best, he was on the sidelines, in the shadows, nursing a glass of whiskey, just like his own father had.  Tony didn't know how to play catch or treat a scraped knee or make a kid eat their vegetables.  Fuck, he could barely care for himself.  He and Steve had dodged a bullet.  And Tony was left with a sense of... not being good enough, not being a good Alpha, which was only compounded by the fact that Steve thought Bucky was still alive and that Bucky was somehow unaged, unmarred... still in the prime of his life, his twenties...

Pierce's comment had hit Tony hard.  He didn't really notice the age difference.  He'd only been forty for a few months but he didn't feel old.  But could he take on a twenty-something man with army training?  Admittedly, probably not.

He wanted to be a good Alpha for Steve and he felt like he was failing.  Steve had been shot at, injured, and Tony hadn't been there to protect him.  Steve had gotten knocked up and then lost it, and somehow, that all felt like Tony's fault, too.

Fortunately the conversation was already turning again.  More harmless, polite banter.  Malick came back to the table and gave Pierce a tight smile and a nod.  Tony was guessing he hadn't been talking to a mechanic; some top-secret SHIELD thing.  Heck, maybe he'd been talking with a doctor, getting updates on Fury.

Tony wasn't able to finish his dinner, but he helped himself to another martini.  Olives were food, at least, right?  He would have liked to have excused himself for a smoke before dessert, but he didn't smoke and he also couldn't stand leaving Steve alone.  Not after he'd already left him alone all day to fend for himself in a world where people shot at him, apparently.

The dessert was probably the fanciest thing Steve had ever eaten. It was a chocolate dome which they melted with hot caramel sauce from a jug only to reveal different cubes of cake and ice cream all in different yellows and pinks. Steve was glad he could eat without the stress of worrying about calories (he more ate with the stress of not having _enough_ ). Irshad was gently nudging all her cubes of jelly onto his plate.

Tony dissected his with the precision of a surgeon, picking apart and eating only certain parts.  He was unimpressed with the decadence of it.  He'd eaten meals with actual gold in them.  (A poorly thought-out marketing ploy, in Tony's opinion.  He would rather eat food that didn't make him shit glitter.)

"They always ask such stupid questions, don't they?" sighed Irshad quietly. "Not, oh how are you going to make the world a better place? Or, how do you feel about climate change?"

"What's climate change?" asked Steve through a mouthful of cake.

"No, it's always are you going to have _babies_. Drives me up the wall sometimes," continued Irshad. Steve got a feeling she was asked that question a lot. Irshad wasn't mated though, or married (no wedding ring). She seemed like a free spirit, someone who didn't want to be tied down by anything.

The rest of the meal was thankfully without drama. The plates were cleared away and they moved into a drawing room for drinks and coffee. Steve just wanted to go home. But home was a plane journey away. Even Irshad snapping at some big business Alpha about equality in the workplace wasn't enough to make him smile right now.

"Do you...do you think we can get out of here yet?" he murmured in Tony's ear.

When Steve asked to go, it wasn't a moment to soon.  He'd made the poor decision to have three cups of coffee and was starting to feel jittery in addition to drunk.

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmured back to Steve.  He had just finished up a conversation with an ex-member of the EPA about nuclear energy and was feeling worn out.  "Go speak to the Ellises, thank them, reassure them we won't blow any shit up anytime soon again if we can help it, and say something about how you look forward to seeing them at your charity dinner.  Then we can blow this popsicle stand."

He turned to grab the nearest omega for another cup of coffee and accidentally grabbed Irshad.

She glared at him.  "Are you _kidding_ me, Mr. Stark?"

"Come on, give me a break, lady, I'm drunk and I'm worried about my mate."

Her face softened the tiniest bit.  She stuck out a hand.  "As far as privileged, uninformed, prejudiced Alphas go, you're one of the good ones."

"Blame Steve for that," said Tony.  "He's the one helping me see the light.  ...fucking Lorentz, he's _wholesome_ , isn't he?"  He cast a fond glance over at Steve.  They'd detached for the first time all night so Steve could make his good-byes to the president.

Irshad smiled a little.  "He's got a good heart.  We're going to change the world.  Good-bye, Mr. Stark.  I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

"Come to our charity dinner.  We'll give you an orchid," offered Tony.

She laughed.  "No, thanks.  I never want to own one of those things.  They're a symbol of omega oppression."

"...Christ, do you ever turn it off?  They're just pretty flowers.  The only people who are being oppressed by them right now are my gardeners."

Irshad laughed again.  "I appreciate the sentiment."

 Across the room, Steve was shaking President Ellis's hand.  "Thank you so much for the invitation; it's been lovely. The food was unlike anything else I've ever tasted," Steve said honestly. Ellis's smile was warm; he really wanted this to work out well. He probably wouldn't be impressed when the election came around and it turned out Steve was probably voting democratic but they didn't need to talk about such things now. Cooperation would work in everyone's favor.

His wife stepped forward, a hand on his arm. "It's been a pleasure having you, captain," she said, words almost intimate before she pulled her hand back. "I do hope you find the happiness you deserve with Mr. Stark, after everything you've sacrificed for our country."

"I believe I already have," Steve murmured with a small, genuine smile. He offered Ellis a small nod, which was returned.

"Good luck out there Captain; keep an eye on Stark for us."

Steve laughed softly.  "No promises, Mr. President."

With that he pulled away to return to Tony's side, fingers brushing against his Alpha's on instinct. He resisted the urge to lean down and kiss him. "You ready to go?" Steve asked softly and took his hand properly. The look Tony gave him was answer enough.

One of the staff gave Steve his clothes, now washed, in a bag, and escorted them out, opening the front doors for them. He bid them good night, which Steve politely returned, and they headed outside to find Happy waiting for them with the car

He looked relieved to see Steve no longer covered in blood.

"Good evening?" He asked as he opened the car door for them.

" _Long_ evening," replied Tony, drawing a hand over is face.  "Take us to the plane, Hap.  I just wanna crash."  He pulled Steve into the back seat, waited until the door was closed, and then demanded, "Okay.  Full story.  What the hell happened, Steve?  Who shot you?  What happened to Fury?"

The windows were tinted and, feeling secure that no one was watching them except for Happy, Tony pulled Steve down onto the back seat and draped himself over him.  The feeling of Steve's body under him, warm and breathing steadily, his chest moving up and down, was comforting.  This was all Tony had really wanted, all night, was to cover his mate.  Happy, driving, was discreet; he kept his eyes on the road.  Tony had done a lot worse in the back seats of cars before.

The car was a suddenly quiet space compared to the noise of the party. It was almost an oppressive quiet, the only sound the traffic until Tony finally spoke. It took Steve a while to answer. He just focused on the feeling of Tony blanketed other him, a comforting weight and warmth. He stared up at the car ceiling, the colour of it a murky grey.

Tony's hands roamed over Steve's body, stroking his chest and sides and stomach.

He paused there.  Steve's stomach was flat and hard.  He couldn't ever even imagine Steve pregnant.  Male omegas always looked different than females, their bulges a little less prominent.  But nonetheless, those bulges were noticeable, especially at the end.  And their features always softened a little, their faces and chests.  Tony couldn't imagine Steve looking like that, any more than he could imagine himself being a good father.  Tony had abandoned the idea of ever having a family shortly after his own was killed.

Obadiah had once said to him that the company was their family, and that made sense to Tony.

"...does it hurt?" he asked quietly.  He wasn't talking about the bullet.

"I just feel... empty," Steve said quietly, after a moment, his gaze unwavering. All his politeness had gone. He didn't have the energy to smile, or to do much else. "Just... yeah, empty."

It was strange. It was like something had been wrenched out of him. His abdomen area just felt _wrong_.

"Fury nearly died. He went in for emergency surgery. Bucky shot him," Steve continued after a moment. "I think HYDRA was trying to take me.  Alive.  I didn't let them. It all happened very quickly.  All I know for sure is that Bucky didn't know who I am and he made me have a-"  Steve stopped sharply, the continued, voice strained, "He threw me against a wall.  I'm pretty sure that's what did it."

Tony felt his jaw tighten at the sound of the other's name.  "It's not him.  It can't be, Steve.  He'd be ninety-three or ninety-four," said Tony.  "You're the only living super-soldier out there.  It can't be him."  Admittedly, he was trying to convince himself more than Steve.  "If it was him, he'd know you.  They just.... found a way to mess with your perception.  Maybe they were using some sort of weird drug, maybe they found a guy that looked like him and gave him plastic surgery, I don't know.  But that can't be him."

Tony didn't comment on what he'd done, on what had happened when Steve had been thrown against the wall.  None of them had known.  But if the Winter Soldier hadn't appeared... they would've found out and then they would have had to have gotten rid of it, anyway.

Besides, weren't miscarriages common?  Especially for someone like Steve, whose body had been through so much... who had never been pregnant before...

Yeah, Tony was definitely grasping at straws.  But the idea of an accidental pregnancy horrified him.  That could only mean one of two things.  Either Steve had cheated (unlikely, knowing Steve) or his vasectomy hadn't actually been a success, which meant that he might just have some bastards out there, which was a terrifying thought in and of itself.

"Seventy years is a long time," Steve whispered. "God knows what they've done to him. He could have changed a lot. You don't have to believe me Tony, but you know what I think."

Tony opted to change the subject.  "...we should go to the doctor," he said quietly.  "I mean... about that.  To make sure you're okay."  He had no idea if this could hurt Steve, what the repercussions were.  Steve's body healed miraculously on its own... but Steve's doctors had been wrong so many times, about him not having heats and being infertile, and Tony wanted to make sure.

"We should go to where Fury's at, make sure he's okay too," Steve said quietly, his gaze finally flitting down to Tony's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen his Alpha so unsure before. He reached up and brushed his fingers against Tony's cheek lightly. "It's not your fault, you know that, right? I told you that morning, to ignore how I felt. It was just..." he trailed off. "Bad timing."

"I just don't understand how this happened."

"I think it was from the end of the honeymoon," Steve whispered. "That time on the desk."

Tony's jaw tightened a little more as Steve ran his fingers over his face.  "We're both sterile, Steve.  Or we're... supposed to be."  He huffed a little and shifted on top of Steve, unwilling to get off of him.  The idea of another Alpha out there, going after him...

"...we'll go see Fury tomorrow.  He's in Los Angeles, right?  We'll see him tomorrow, we'll see a doctor, we'll figure this out.  ...no more secret meetings without me, okay?  I don't want... why would HYDRA even want to try to kidnap you, that doesn't make any sense, you'd never work for them.  I don't want you to leave the house anymore without your shield.  Does SHIELD know?"

"It wasn't _supposed_ to be a secret meeting," Steve murmured. "I thought it would be our chance to...work stuff out, you know? For the sake of SHIELD we need to get on better, me and Nick, and I thought this was just a casual meeting.  Well... if anything good came out of it, maybe now we finally will... we both saved each other's asses. Maybe that counts for something. I don't know.  And why wouldn't HYDRA want me?" Steve sighed. "They want the serum, remember?"

It occurred to Tony, suddenly, that the reason Pierce and Malick had seemed so edgy and kept leaving to take phone calls was because SHIELD probably already knew perfectly well what had happened.  That, even as they were driving toward the airport, President Ellis was probably being briefed on what had happened.  That it was going to be all over the news and people would be asking questions.

Damage control.  That was what they needed.  Tony was going to have to call Rhodes, call Pepper, call his press coordinator and his social media rep and make sure everyone was running a consistent story.

Pepper.  That was who he wanted to call, more than anyone.

He shuffled a little awkwardly on top of Steve and found his phone in his pocket.  246 unread messages.  He deleted them all, then sent out a single one.

_ > Pepper I need to talk to you.  Tonight.  Can you come by?  I should be home before 3 am.  Breakfast?  It's important. _

"...it _can't_ be him.  He's been dead seventy years," said Tony, mostly to himself.

"I was supposed to be dead for seventy years, remember?" Steve said softly, drawing his hand back when it felt his touch went welcome. He swallowed almost awkwardly. Was Tony put off him now, after the miscarriage, and with Bucky?

Tony's phone beeped in his hand.

_ > I'll come over in the morning Tony. Not tonight. Are you ok? _

"But what are the chances, Steve?  You got lucky, you were frozen, but your-- your friend.  He was declared dead.  1944.  I mean, the-- the Smithsonian-- he got all those medals, post-mortem...."  Tony stopped talking.  He could smell Steve's discomfort.

Despite all of Steve's complaints Tony had heard-- that Bucky hadn't respected him, hadn't loved him, had refused to mate him-- they had still been bonded.  Or still were.  Whatever.  Tony would prefer if Barnes were dead, but talking about it wasn't doing Steve any favors.

"...we'll see Fury tomorrow and... and we'll work everything out.  Everything will be okay," Tony said, quietly, vaguely, more to himself than to Steve.  He was already distracted by his phone.

_ > No, I'm not.  My mate got shot at, Pepper, turn on the fucking news. _

He rose off Steve a little to look out the window.  Ah.  The road was running along a chain-link fence and, beyond it, Tony could see the long runways and taxiways of the airport, the hundreds of yellow and blue and white and red lights creating an artificial, eternal day along the tarmac.

_ > I need you.  They went after Steve. _

Tony couldn't think of any more to say.  He didn't want to type out words like "pregnant," or "miscarriage."  That would make it too real.  Right now, it was more of weird hypothetical.  And it was easily fixed.  Tony would get a real vasectomy from a legitimate doctor instead of some sketchy clinic in Tijuana and that would be that.

Below him, Steve's body was still breathing, in and out, rhythmically.  Hypnotically.  Tony could have fallen asleep on him, but he was too stressed out to sleep.  He might never sleep again.  Every time he started to relax he remembered the smell of Steve's blood and the dander on his neck went up all over again.

"Boss?" asked Happy gently, as they drove through a couple of security gates and toward the hangar.

"We're awake.  We're fine.  ...nothing leaves this car, got it Hap?"

"Got it."  A pause.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't," warned Tony, a lot sharper than he meant to.  He didn't want anyone to act like this was a big deal.  He didn't want to give it any significance in his life.  Why was everyone so focused on a pregnancy they hadn't even known about?  Wasn't anyone upset that Steve had been _shot at_?  That HYDRA was targeting him as a source for something that wanted, something only Steve had, and they'd stop at nothing to get it?  That Steve had been shot?  For Tony, those were much more pressing concerns.

Maybe they were wrong, somehow, the doctors.  Maybe it wasn't what they thought.  Like with Barnes.  Maybe Steve was grossly mistaken and Barnes was dead and buried and not a threat to them.

Tony's mind turned toward those motherfucking tulips, and it was like a fist clenched around his stomach, tight and painful.  He couldn't tell if that was from him, or his mate.

 _ > I'll be there_.

Pepper's short reply was simple but it meant everything.

Tony and Steve dragged themselves onto the plane slowly, heavily, both of them exhausted.  Tony sat without even getting a drink and was thankful Charlie didn't try to talk to him.  Maybe she'd seen the news.

Once they were on the plane Steve was wanted the suit _off_. He changed back into his jeans and tee.  The cabin crew had enough sense to leave them entirely on their own. They were sat in one of the back cabins, Steve's laid out with his head in Tony's lap, his eyes half drooping shut. Tony raked his fingers through the short blond hair and felt a weird sense of... loss, almost.  He loved long hair.  He loved running his fingers through a woman's long, silky hair and here he was, bonded to a male omega who had just miscarried and who was already bonded to some other guy.

The worst part was that Tony didn't feel at all surprised.  He'd always had a vague suspicion he wasn't _good enough_.  But it was only a couple of years ago that those words had been spoken aloud.  In the cave, between the freezing water that threatened to suffocate him, the stinging impact of jumper cables, the burn of cigarettes, they hissed things to him he'd always sort of suspected.  That no one would come for him, because no one cared for him.  That his only purpose was to build weapons and so he might as well do it for them, because otherwise, he was worthless.  He didn't deserve the life he'd been handed and this was what he truly deserved.  He was barely truly a man, or an Alpha, or a human.  He was no one.  Nothing.

Had he ever considered actually building their weapons?  Not really.  He would rather be a bitch than a traitor.  But years later, the words still stung.  Tony's dating had tapered off a lot after Afghanistan.  He missed women.  He missed not worrying about pregnancies.  His life was turning in a way that made him uncertain of the future, and Tony hated being uncertain.

"I just wanna be home already," he murmured, nuzzling against Tony's thigh. "Feels like I've been away for months," he said, when in reality it had only been one day.

But what a day it had been.

Steve was quiet for a short moment longer and then he spoke up again.

"I want to go after HYDRA. I want to make them sorry they even thought they could do this. I want to make them _burn,_ Tony. I want to make them pay."

Tony was so lost in thought, his mind taking him back to dark places and shadowy caves, that he almost missed Steve's words.

"What?  No.  I mean... I get it.  I understand the need to... want to get even.  ...they'll get what's coming to them eventually, Stevie.  Just not as soon as we like.  Let's just... focus on SHIELD, okay?"

Tony's words felt foreign and distant in his mouth, like someone else was talking.  He was sinking into a bad place.  The only reason he hadn't let go was to be there for Steve, but now, on the safety of his private jet, with the engines humming comfortingly under him, the panic was swelling up and he was pretty sure he was in for a nasty panic attack.

"Steve.  I need to have a melt-down," he said, with surprising calm.  He was panting a little.  "Please-- please promise me you won't do anything stupid or reckless.  I'm-- I'm putting down my foot here, okay, I'm playing the Alpha card.  I'm serious.  I don't want you running around like you're Scooby fuckin' Doo trying to go after HYDRA, I don't want you leaving the house without me or your shield, I don't want-- don't want--"

_Don't want you to get shot again.  Don't want to not be there.  Don't want to lose you._

The words were gone.  Tony was struggling to breathe.  He could not fucking do this.  Everything had been perfect and then, _bam_ his mate was bursting into dinners covered in blood saying that Barnes was alive and their baby was dead, and it wasn't supposed to be like this at all, they were supposed to be safe, Vanko was dead now, they were supposed to be in a stable fucking relationship and this wasn't stable at all.

"Steve," choked out Tony, though his labored breathing.  He congratulated himself on maintaining some semblance of being cool.  "Steve.  I love you.  If I lost you... it would be like going back to that cave."

He curled up in on himself, waiting for his heart to slow the fuck down.  He'd kept himself in control for Steve's dinner and for the ride home but now, he couldn't hold it back any longer.  He needed to let it out or he'd really lose it.  He was shaking violently, gasping fast and shallow, his world reduced to a tiny little pinpoint of himself and his pain.  The first time he'd had one, he'd thought he was dying.  A heart attack, maybe.  But no.  Just a panic attack.  Quite common for people with PTSD, the doctors had informed him.  Tony had scoffed and told them he didn't have PTSD, and never mentioned it again, although he had one or two a month.  But only Pepper and Happy knew about those, and maybe Rhodey.  Tony didn't feel like it was that big of a deal, really.  Plenty of people probably got kidnapped and tortured for three months and then had a couple of little panic spells a month.  Besides, he'd earned this one.  It was warranted, after he'd nearly lost his goddamn mate.

* * *

_Dugan had always seemed so strong. Impenetrable, in fact. Steve had never seen him hesitate on the battlefield, he hardly ever missed a shot. He was a good soldier. He was one of the best. Steve didn't think he'd ever even seen him looking afraid. That wasn't Dugan, oh no. Dugan didn't get afraid. He laughed away fear with his big, red rosy cheeks and a mischievous glint in his eyes._

_So when Steve had found him he'd had to do a double take because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Him and Bucky were having a bad day and, frankly, weren't really talking. Steve had headed out into the woods to clear his head and there he'd found Dugan, wheezing against a tree with his cheeks_ too _red and clutching at his uniform jacket._

_They called it shellshock, didn't they? When a soldier started to crack. They'd had a terrible fight yesterday. They'd gone to rescue hostages - they didn't get a single one out. Guilt was weighing heavily on all of their shoulders._

_Steve rushed up to him. "Tim? Tim, you okay?"_

_Dugan tried to wave him away but he couldn't raise his arm very high. "F-Fine Cap. D-Don't worry."_

_But Steve was worried. "You sure as hell don't look it," he told him and ducked down, meeting his gaze. He put his hands on his comrade's shoulders. "Okay. You're gonna breathe with me, right? In for two, and out for two...in for two and out for two..."_

_It took over twenty minutes for Dugan's breathing to calm down. But they got there. He wheezed out a breathy chuckle._

_"Sorry Cap, don't know what came over me there."_

_Steve smiled a little sadly. "Don't worry about it, now let's get you back to camp...I think Falsworth's got some cocoa."_

_Dugan's hand caught Steve's wrist.  "Captain.  Don't tell the other men?"_

_"Tell 'em what, Dum-Dum?" Steve said.  The two smiled at each other.  It didn't meet their eyes.  They trekked back to camp together._

* * *

"Tony. Tony look at me." Steve knelt down in front of him and reached up, putting his hands on top of Tony's and encouraging him to meet his gaze. He'd seen this before, he knew what this was. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you. And you are _never_ going back to that cave. I would tear down the world before I let that happen." Steve squeezed his hands gently. "Now, Tony, I need you to breathe with me, ok?"

The anxiety and stress was rolling off Tony in waves, to the point where it was suffocating. Steve wad finding it hard to concentrate himself. He was overwhelmed with a sadness that wasn't entirely his own.

"In for two and out for two. That's it, but slower. Don't try to talk, just focus on breathing. That's it. In for two and out for two..." Steve's voice was soft, encouraging and understanding. Because he'd been before. Being a good leader hadn't just been about the battle, it had been about off the battle field too. Steve squeezed Tony's fingers again. "Just go slow. Don't rush it. Just focus on breathing. In for two and out for two..."

Tony could hear Steve, yeah.   Could even sort of understand the words.  But breathing with him was impossible.  Tony's chest had constricted and it made him think about how black holes formed, how stars collapsed under their own weight to form super-dense masses, singularities so heavy that light couldn't escape, masses that were eternally dark and ever-pressing, whose pressure relentlessly bore down and crushed anything unlucky enough to be near it.

Every time he thought he was going to surface, his brain shouted hazily at him: _YOUR MATE WAS SHOT!_ And then he was back under, trembling with stress, softly panting and wheezing.

Why hadn't he been there.  Why hadn't he been shot instead.  The memory of Steve bursting into the reception room covered in blood was burned into the back of his mind, and while he'd been able to handle it in the room full of people, now that the dinner was over, it was hitting him, full-force.  It was a living nightmare.  Steve wasn't supposed to be mortal.  He was Captain America, he wasn't supposed to get hurt.

Tony had learned that the only real way to handle a panic attack was to ride it out.  This was something Pepper was great at.  She never crowded him; she hovered by and usually chanted a mantra Tony found easy to follow.   _Tony.  It's me.  You're here.  You're safe._ The words were less important than the rhythm of them.

Personally, he found reciting either prime numbers of the periodic table to be the best method to re-establish some semblance of control.  He could hear Steve naming numbers.  Yes.  Primes.  Two was a prime.

"...out for two..." Steve was saying.

"Three, five, seven," continued Tony.  Gasp.  "Eleven.  Thirteen."  Gasp.  "Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three, twenty-nine..."  He was shaking, his body tense from the stress.  He was gripping Steve's fingers.  These attacks always left him feeling like a wet cloth that had been wrung out, and afterwards, he always ended up passing out, exhausted.  He reached out shakily to put his arms around Steve.  Steve's warm, living, breathing body.  Steve was safe.  They were safe.

 _For now,_ thought his mind hysterically.   _Until the next attack._

Tony shuddered again.  Twice already, _twice_ , he'd nearly lost him, with Vanko, now with HYDRA.

He wasn't sure when his breathing steadied or when he finally dropped off to sleep; he woke as they were landing, his body drenched in sweat, his muscles sore from being clenched.  He felt like he'd aged years; he probably looked like hell, but in a way, he felt that was better, because when he saw Pepper, she would see and understand why he had needed to see her.

"Steve," he whispered hoarsely.  "...omega..."  He reached for Steve's neck, to check if his mark was still there.  Of course it was.  Tony felt the slightest, slightest bit better.  Bonds didn't break.  He and Steve were still in this together.  At least they had that.  At least they had each other.


	6. Omegologist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Tony establishes that he's been outbreak-free since 2008! - T

He examined his face in the mirror.  His hair had gotten long but no one had offered to cut it for him.  They'd shaved him, recently, but some stubble was starting to show.  He ran his right hand over his chin and jaw thoughtfully.  He couldn't sleep.  No one had instructed him to do anything in particular.  While he was often restless, he was usually capable of just sitting and waiting.  But the headache he was nursing had made it impossible, and he felt a terrible sense of foreboding, too, almost panic, that wouldn't let him hold still.

Fear was unknown to him.  He was finding the restless prickling feeling to be very, very unpleasant.  He gripped the sink's basin and heard a crack; looking down, his left hand had gripped too hard.  He pulled it away.  He hated it, sometimes.  His left arm itched constantly but he couldn't scratch it, and every movement made noise, whirrings, clickings, that he was always worried would compromise a mission.  Often he was required to be completely silent.  The mechanics of his left arm could make that difficult.

He left the bathroom and went back to his cot.  He pulled out the picture of Howard and Captain America, and traced Captain America's face.  He'd never been instructed to take anyone alive before.  Captain America must be very important.  But he knew that already.  Against all reason, he _liked_ him.  It was the first time he had ever _liked_ someone, other than Karpov.  He wasn't supposed to like anyone.  But Captain America's whole person... it _sang_ to him.  The way he moved and spoke and fought, the expressions on his face, his smell.  Everything about him was a symphony and it felt like it was one that was dedicated to him.  He almost felt bad for hurting him.  (Of course, he'd had to.  His instructions were very clear, and besides, Captain America had hurt him, too; the knife wound in his hip was throbbing.)  He wondered if, once he took Captain America, if he would see him again.  If they would maybe get to talk.  He didn't know what they'd talk about because he wasn't allowed to talk to anyone about anything; other than giving mission reports and answering questions, no one wanted to hear him.  Occasionally, rarely, he and Karpov would have a conversation if Karpov was bored.  But he didn't know how to talk to people, and he'd been able to tell, when he was talking to Ducky and Amber and Freak, that they had not understood him.

Another wave of panic seized him and his good arm got goosebumps.  He gritted his teeth but that made them hurt.  Dr. Liebmann had warned him off solid foods for at least a week. If he could have anything, it would have been human company.  He didn't mind being ignored; he would have just liked someone to be in the room with him.  Being alone was terrible.  He would have even preferred to be with Dr. Liebmann, who patted his head a lot and talked directly to him, which almost made up for the excruciating pain of surgery.  But no one needed him right now so he was by himself.  He lay on his cot, clutching the picture of Captain America, being careful not to crinkle the glossy magazine page, and stared at the ceiling, alone, waiting for it to pass.

* * *

"I'm here," Steve murmured, a hand on Tony's chest. He stayed close to him throughout it, whispering soft comforts and reassurances as Tony chanted numbers beside him. It was nothing he hadn't seen before but it was still alarming when it was his _mate_ panicking. When the plane landed he was relieved, absolutely. He just wanted to get home, for both their sakes'. Tony was awake but not all that coherent. There was no one around to see so Steve just picked him up, his head tucked against the crook of his shoulder. He held him tightly, securely, not even noticing the sharp tug in his leg with each step and the ache in his stomach. All that mattered right now was getting Tony _home_.

They got into the car with Happy at the wheel. He drove quickly, getting the message. He didn't even speak to them; he just _drove_ . Steve and Tony were just tangled together, not speaking either. He was just grateful to hear his Alpha breathing properly, or at least, actually _breathing._ It was late at night; the sky was clear but the light pollution hid the stars.

"Here," Happy said quietly as he pulled into the drive of their home.

Pepper was waiting for them inside, a cup of coffee nursed and half empty before her. She glanced up and her eyes widened at the sight of them, mostly at Tony looking terrible and Steve looking suspiciously okay. Although his neck was mottled purple. She stood, rushing over to them and taking Tony by the shoulders where he stood. She glanced him up and down and knew what had happened, her lips set in a thin line.

"I thought you said Steve was shot?" she asked and looked over at Steve himself, who shrugged.

"In the leg. Tony...  didn't have a good plane ride over," he said softly.

"Pepper!"

Tony perked up slightly.  It was the wee hours of the morning, three or four am, but she was here, just like she'd promised, not a hair out of place.  Tony had always admired her ability to compose herself on short notice.  She was wearing a navy skirt suit, looking like she'd come straight from the office.  Tony wondered if she even had any non-work clothes.  Their relationship had always been professional; Tony couldn't imagine her walking around in a t-shirt and sweatpants, even though he would have liked to.

"...need to talk to you.   _Alone_ ," said Tony, gripping her arm and pulling her toward the stairs to the shop.  He stopped and wheeled around, pointing to Steve.  "You.  Bed.  I want you to rest.  ...and take your shield."

"Take his shield to bed?" repeated Pepper.

"JARVIS!  I want this whole place on lock-down!  No one comes in or out unless they're on the short list!" barked Tony.  "Call Ansell, Bateman, and Raj!  ...and the surgeon general, find out whoever that is and call him, too!  Pepper, come on, hurry up!"  Tony snatched a decanter of whiskey from the bar before loping down the stairs to the shop, dragging her with him.

"Tony, come-" Steve sighed as he pulled Pepper away. "...on," he finished, alone in the foyer now. Wonderful. He didn't bother to grab his shield from the gym; it was pointless. Stark security was top of the line.  He just headed upstairs to their room. Steve stripped down, stiffly. He grabbed wipes and got rid of the last of the blood away from his legs and then went to grab the first aid kit, redressing his bullet wound robotically. Steve had done this countless times and Tony would have been too shaky to help anyway.

Downstairs, Tony punched his code into the keycard on the door and yanked Pepper inside.  Relief flooded him when the heavy door closed behind him with a click and a beep.  The glass was bulletproof and always had been, since before Afghanistan.  The keycard on the door was top of the line, designed by Tony himself.  Here, he felt safe.  Saf _er_ , anyway.

"Tony.  Slow down.  Talk to me," said Pepper with her usual forced calm.

Tony pulled the crystal plug from the decanter and turned up the bottle, drinking directly from it.

Pepper crossed the room toward the corner kitchenette with in a few short clicks, grabbed a glass, walked over, and pulled away the decanter, shoving the glass into Tony's hand.

"Tony.  Talk."

Tony put his hand over hers and tilted the decanter, pouring himself a drink.  He put one hand on his desk to steady himself and nursed the drink for a moment.

"Steve miscarried."

There it was.  The first time those words had come out.  Now they were real.  They couldn't be taken back.  Tony had sort of expected something more dramatic but the shop was quiet and peaceful.

Pepper put a hand on Tony's upper arm.  "...I'm so sorry," she said softly.

A lump formed in his throat.  He tried to swallow it with more whiskey.  He had a million questions for her; she was one of few people Tony didn't mind looking ignorant in front of.  But he didn't speak because he felt like doing so would cause a deluge of emotions and after his total breakdown in front of her after finding out about Bucky, Tony felt it was important to maintain control around her for a while.  He didn't want her to think that bonding had made him into an emotional mess.  His eyes darted up to meet her green ones, which were flooded with sympathy.

He didn't know how common this was.  He didn't know how omegas, much less male omegas, worked.  He didn't know whether or not he was supposed to even be sad.  He just knew it hurt.  Perhaps moreso because it hurt his mate. 

Although, currently... Steve felt okay.  Okay-ish, anyway.

Upstairs, having re-wrapped his leg, Steve had flopped back into the bed to stare at the ceiling.

He glanced down, peeled up his tee and peeled down the waistband of his boxers, to stare at his stomach. It was ridiculous. There was a goddamn _six-pack_ there; there wasn't any room for a baby. And they didn't even _want_ a baby. Steve knew that.  He was consciously aware of it. But that didn't mean he would be prepared to get _rid_ of one if the situation arose again.

Steve rolled onto his front, arms folded under his chin. He didn't think he could sleep but he could, at least, appreciate the quiet. There had been so much _noise_. It was bullets raining down on them, then the roar of a jet engine, and then a stupid cocktail party. And now finally it was just... silent. And it was wonderful. Steve closed his eyes blissfully, savoring it, even though he wasn't sleeping. He didn't think he could sleep without Tony here next to him.

* * *

 Downstairs, Tony was dutifully nursing his whiskey.  Pepper watched him.  When Tony didn't say anything Pepper finally broke the tension. "How...how do you feel about it?" she asked quietly. "How does Steve feel about it?"

"I don't know," said Tony.  He paused, then repeated, "I don't know."

He pushed off the desk and began pacing.  "We don't want a baby.  That's stupid.  Babies don't have any point.  They're loud, they're gross, they don't _do_ anything.  Obviously, Steve's a soldier, and me, I'm-- I'm me, I can't have kids-- I mean, I'd be a terrible parent, neither of us want that, we didn't think-- I don't-- it was a mistake, we didn't think he could-- I mean, he's got what, two percent body fat?  ...if it weren't for today he still probably would have lost it, and that's for the best, we couldn't have kept it--"

He paused to take a breath and finished his drink.  He walked back over to Pepper and reached for the decanter; she pulled it away a little.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"What am I supposed to say?  I don't even-- I don't even get his anatomy, for fuck's sake, I don't know a damn thing about omegas or heats or bonding, I thought we were both sterile, we weren't using protection because we had no idea that you could get knocked up during the honeymoon period--"

Pepper sighed.  "Sometimes I forget how sheltered you've been.  You haven't been using protection at _all_?  ...don't you have herpes?"

"Not since 2008.  ...we use condoms sometimes, like.... like maybe four times so far, I think."

Pepper put a hand over her face.  "Oh, Lord, Tony.  That's not-- that's not how that works."

"Is Steve gonna be okay?" demanded Tony, tugging the decanter out of her hand.  She let him have it.

"...do you mean does he have herpes now, or do you mean from the miscarriage?"

"Either one."

"He's probably going to be fine.  The serum... altered his body in a lot of ways.  He doesn't get sick and he heals so quickly.  I'm guessing he's immune to whatever you're carrying.  Well, even if he gets the virus, it's unlikely he'd ever experience a real outbreak.  But I personally wouldn't be chancing it.  Which is what you do every time you don't use a condom.  Haven't either of you talked to a doctor about any of this?  Are you just relying on his knowledge from the thirties' and your own drunken experience?"

"Pretty much.  Is this normal?"

"Nothing you do is ever normal.  I'll get Steve an appointment with a omegologist."  She was already pulling out her BlackBerry.

"What the fuck's an omegologist?"

Pepper stared at him in bafflement.  "...you know what a gynecologist is, right?  A doctor for women?  An omegologist is a doctor for male omegas."

"What, why can't they just go to a gynecologist?"

Pepper stared at him, dumbfounded.  "Because they're _men_ , Tony."

"Well, where do female omegas go?"

"They go to a gynecologist."

"I don't understand.  Why do men need a separate--"

Pepper sighed and reached over to put a hand on his shoulder.  "Okay, I'm going to call a doctor for you and Steve to talk to tomorrow, okay?  I'll find someone who will do a house call and sit both of you down and talk to you.  I think you need to go upstairs and talk all this over with Steve.  No sex.  Just talk."

"Pepper.  He thinks... he thinks the guy that tried to kill him, the HYDRA guy, the one that caused this... he thinks it's his old mate.  Bucky."

To Pepper's credit, she didn't react.  "Well, regardless of who it was, _you're_ his mate now, Tony, and you should be there for him.  That was your--"

"--embryo," Tony cut her off.  "...maybe even zygote."

"Whatever.  You're his mate now."

"...yeah," said Tony quietly, firmly, nodding.  "You're right.  Not Bucky.  I'm gonna go upstairs now.  ...Pepper, don't tell anyone, okay?"

She smiled sadly.  "I wouldn't."  She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

Tony took one last swig of whiskey before stalking upstairs.  Their brief conversation had helped a lot.  She'd said what he needed to hear about Bucky, and she was taking action on the miscarriage thing.  Tony actually felt a hell of a lot better.

He slipped into his bedroom as quietly as possible.  Steve's form was lying in their bed, on his stomach, a thin sheet around his waist, his bare back rising and falling with his breaths.

Tony peeled off his wrinkled tux, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor, and crawled into bed next to him, putting an arm around him.  "Hey," he whispered.  He kissed Steve's shoulder.  "Talked to Pep.  She's getting an... omegologist to come see you.  About... the thing.  To make sure you're okay."  He paused.  "...you okay?"

Steve practically sighed in relief as Tony's arm curled around him. His eyes fluttered open as he reached out, curling into Tony's touch with his hands bracing over his chest. "Better now you're here," he whispered, tilting his head under the crook of his shoulder. He breathed in his scent and savored his warmth. Steve didn't know what to say, how to explain how he was feeling.  He just hoped Tony could feel it too.

"Didn't even know they were a thing," he admitted quietly. "Didn't exist back in my day." Steve traced the pad of his thumb over the bump of his collarbone. Steve sighed and let his eyes slip back shut.

Tony felt so much calmer after talking with Pepper. Steve almost felt bad that he couldn't have the same effect on him - but they had known each other for years and Steve had been the source of all the stress in the first place. He had no reason to feel inadequate about it. Steve was just honestly grateful Tony was calmer.

"Are they...coming to the house?" Steve asked in a murmur. "Or do I have to go out to see them?"

"...they're gonna come here," said Tony softly, setting his chin on Steve's head.  "We're gonna stay in for a few days, okay?  You let Aria do the work, handle the pres.  You just relax, okay?"

He felt a lot better, and Steve felt better, too.  They were back in their own bed.  Steve was safe.  The dinner had gone well, Tony thought, and now they could just... recalibrate.  Recharge.  Take it easy.

Even though they'd slept on the plane ride over, they fell asleep again, their  bodies curled together.  It was already so early that pre-dawn light was filtering in through the west-facing windows.  Tony only slept a few hours before he was waking up, and it was already morning, and he felt disoriented and shitty.

He groaned weakly.  "JARVIS," he groaned.  His arms were still around Steve, whose body was warm.

"Good morning sir.  The time is eight-fifty a.m.  The temperature is eighty-four degrees with clear skies.  Surf conditions are excellent with six-to-eight foot swells.  Stark Industries is up point two points, opening this morning at six hundred and twenty-nine points."

"All of that information is useless to me.  I need a breakfast update," demanded Tony.

"Miss Potts has been here all night and has made your breakfast.  She is downstairs with a Dr. David Gleason."

"...and who the fuck is David Gleason?"

"An omegologist from Burbank."

Tony let himself be impressed.  She worked fast; they'd spoken, what, five hours ago?  Six, tops?  Considering she was no longer on his payroll as his personal assistant, she sure was still doing a lot.

He nudged Steve's shoulder.  It was weird for Steve to sleep later than him.  Steve looked okay, if a little been worn out.  "Steve.  Wake up," he said, sitting up and nudging his mate again.  Something twisted in his gut when he realized the sheets, once white, were spotted with blood.  He pushed them off the omega.  The bandage on his leg was no longer white; it looked kind of like the Japanese flag.  Between his legs there were a few crimson smudges.

"Steve, get up, you're bleeding all over the sheets," said Tony, shaking him.  Was _this_ normal?  God damn it.  Since bonding, Tony had noticed he spent a lot more time feeling stupid than normal.

Steve hadn't dreamt, thankfully. He woke once or twice in the night, he was pretty sure it was due to pain but he couldn't be sure. His body just _ached_. It had been over seventy years since he'd been a real fight, after all. It would take Steve a while to get used to it, he supposed, especially after the squishy gig as Tony's PA and then as his mate. He groaned as Tony nudged him, burying his face into the pillow.  He stilled when Tony mentioned that there was blood.

When he moved he could feel it, a cold and horrid wetness between and on his legs, thick and sticky. Steve grimaced and lifted his head. His eyes widened a little when he looked down at himself. "Oh," was all he said, voice soft.  Steve abruptly felt awake.

He sat up and ran a hand over his face, grunting a little as he felt the bullet wound tug unappreciatively.

"I'll...I'll go change bandages in the bathroom. Don't worry about it. I've done it before."

Tony ran a hand down his back.  "I'll come with you," he said with determination.  Seeing Steve's face, he added, "Oh, _please_ , I can handle it.  I've been cleaning discharge out of the hole in my chest for two years.  I wanna help.  You don't have to do this alone.  I'm your mate."

He offered Steve a hand and got out of bed.  Well, the sheets were probably ruined, but Tony could buy new sheets.  He was genuinely not terribly squeamish.  He didn't like blood, but he could deal with it.  He'd banged women on their periods-- not a deal-breaker for him-- and he'd gotten more than a few cuts and scrapes in the shop, many of which he'd bandaged himself.

"...there's breakfast downstairs.  And a doctor," he added.  "This isn't 1945, Steve.  You don't have to act like a soldier right now.  C'mon.  Look around."  He gestured to the bedroom.  The white sheets and white floor, the private balcony overlooking the bright blue ocean, the mahogany bar in the corner, the bright little orchid on their bedstand.  Sometimes, he found it annoying how Steve behaved.  He guy had grown up in the Depression and he often acted like it.  Surviving instead of living.

Steve couldn't deny that a doctor would bandage him up better than he could. It must be the specialist Pepper had sent for, he figured. "I guess leaving it to the doctor is best," Steve murmured, taking Tony's hand to stand. He was a little wobbly on his bad leg as he grabbed his robe, tying it around himself.

And it was all very well Tony saying he didn't have to like a soldier right now but he sure had yesterday. He'd been shot at, thrown against walls, choked... Steve caught his appearance in the mirror. He was perhaps a little paler than usual but it was the blue and pinkish fingerprint bruises on his neck that stuck out.

"Lead the way," Steve whispered and squeezed his hand lightly.  Tony threw on boxers and a wifebeater before they headed downstairs to find Pepper and the doctor chatting in the breakfast nook on stools, as if they started every day like this. Pepper had coffee and half eaten waffles in front of her. The doctor had just a coffee and he honestly looked a little awkward, a suitcase by his feet.

Pepper looked a little alarmed when she saw the blood on the bandage; Steve had looked better the night before. 

"This is Doctor Gleason," Pepper introduced. The man looked around middle aged, soft about the edges. Friendly enough, Steve guessed.

"...what happened to your leg?" The doctor asked, staring at the bandage and sounding a little hesitant.

"I got shot," Steve said. Gleason blinked.

"Huh."

Pepper frowned at Tony.  "Tony, put some pants on."

"This is _my_ house," he replied, eyeing Gleason suspiciously.  He noted, with annoyance, that no one was telling Steve to put pants on, even though he was also in nothing but briefs and a robe.  Apparently getting shot in the leg gave you a free pass to roam around pantsless.

Gleason was an omega.  That made sense, he guessed.  A bit rounder, with soft, androgynous features.  Probably a mother.

"I'm Tony.  You've heard of me," he said, a bit defensively.

"I have," conceded Gleason with a tip of the head.

"What are your credentials?" he demanded.

"Tony, I already--" began Pepper, but Gleason was already answering.

"I went to Cornell for undergraduate, graduated third in my class, went to Johns Hopkins for med school, where I graduated second in a class of six hundred and four, with a double specialty in omegology and neuroscience.  I was one of two omegas in the entire class.  I've been practicing medicine for twenty-eight years.  I've owned my own practice for the last fourteen years.  I'm a Quiligan Scholar, as well as a recipient of the AMA Scientific Achievement Award and the Laskar Award.  I've hosted two lectures at the Royal Academy in London and I've worked alongside Dr. Sacks and Dr. Strange."

"...how many stars do you have on Yelp?" pressed Tony, stepping in front of Steve.

"Four and a half."

"You got kids?"

"Two of my own, and a stepson that's my Alpha's."

"So you're in a trio?"

"No, he remarried after his first mate died.  We're monogamous.  ...would you like me to bandage that while we talk?"

"Tony, you told me to get you the best, I got you the best," said Pepper, looking embarrassed.  Tony's dander was up in a way that was extremely noticeable.

"It's fine.  I appreciate his concern.  Although I'm here for Captain Rogers, not you, Mr. Stark."  He leaned a little to the side to see Steve.  "We should probably rebandage that.  ...please sit."  While Tony had been grilling him, the red spot on Steve's bandage had spread a little.

"Why do you have to make everything difficult?  He's good.  He's really good," said Pepper.  "Sit down.  I'll get you waffles.  ...and pants."

Tony looked to Steve.  He had no intention of sitting down and letting some stranger put his paws all over Steve unless Steve was on board, and Steve felt uncomfortable.

Steve imagined that Gleason had repeated that speech a lot through out his life to many different Alphas. He knew that Tony's probing came from a place of concern on his behalf, but Gleason had to no doubt deal with many skeptical Alphas who questioned his credibility all the time. His confidence was reassuring. Steve offered Tony a small smile before he moved to sit down, Gleason standing as he did so.

"May I?"

"Go for it." Steve's discomfort had nothing to do with Dr. Gleason.  He seemed like a capable man.  It was just that... well.  Anyone who was going to be touching his intimate areas made Steve feel awkward.

The doctor opened his case, pulled on gloves, and then slowly peeled away the bandage. The gauze against the wound was wet and tinged yellow from leaked serum. Gleason threw it into a plastic bag which would later go into the trash and then fetched wipes from his case to clean around the wound. "So, you were shot a few days ago...?" he guessed.

"Yesterday," Steve said and the doctor blinked in surprise.

"The rate at which you heal is quite something," David mumbled, half to himself.

"I know.  Thanks," said Steve, who felt strangely flattered by this observation.

David busied himself with cleaning the wound with iodine swabs before he got out far more professional-looking bandages than the ones Steve had found in Tony's bathroom the night before. "So.  I doubt I'm here just to redress a wound." His tone was a touch gentler.

Steve's jaw tightened a little.  He made himself say the words.  His voice was steady.  "I miscarried."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  Do you think there anything in particular that might have caused it?"

"I got thrown against a wall. Nearly knocked me out," Steve said quietly. He could still remember the feeling of cold fingers closing around his neck and _squeezing_ almost as if they had been offended by the freshly made scar there.

"That sounds rough," the doctor hummed. Steve found his combination of concern and normalization fairly comforting.  "To examine you properly you're going to have to lie down, Captain.  Is there a more private place for us to chat?  A place you'd feel comfortable?"

Tony was still on his feet, fidgeting. "Is it normal for him to still be bleeding?  ...down there?"

"Generally, yes," said the doctor.

Tony shifted his weight uncomfortably.  "Is the bedroom okay to... look him over?  Steve already ruined the sheets there.  No offense, Steve.  It's okay.  They were cheap sheets."  (They were worth $17,000 but Tony felt it was the wrong time to tell Steve that.)

"Tony.  Steve.  I think you should both talk to Dr. Gleason," said Pepper, staring pointedly at Tony.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  We will," said Tony.  He looked over at Steve.  "Where ever you want.  Where ever's most comfortable for you.  You want me here?  ...I'll stay here," he answered for himself, threading his fingers through Steve's and clutching his hand.

The doctor rose.  "Lead the way, Captain."

"You should come too," Steve said quietly as the doctor pulled back, his leg properly bandaged again like the medic had done on the jet. He offered Pepper a small but grateful smile before they headed up the stairs. She really was a life saver.

He relieved that Gleason said it was normal though. He hated the thought of lasting damage.

The doctor blinked in alarm when they entered the bedroom and he saw the bloody sheets. "Most of its from my leg," Steve tried to reassure him even though he wasn't honestly sure if it was. He just hoped it was. "Should I just...?" He felt awkward all of a sudden.

"Whenever you're ready." David nodded and Steve swallowed. The stark red blood against pale sheets was hardly inviting. A little woodenly, he moved to lie down, legs bent. Awkwardly, he pulled off his pants (bloody too, like the sheets) and dropped them on the floor, his robe at least offering him some decency.

"That's a lovely orchid," offered David, nodding to the little plant on the bedside stand.  "Quite a few lovely ones on the stairs, as well."

"Thanks," said Steve.

Gleason was getting out more wipes from his bag, presumably to clean Steve up down there. "How does it feel?" he asked as he pulled on a new set of gloves.

"It was a sharp pain at first," Steve said quietly. "And now it just kind of... aches, if that makes sense?"

Tony sat on the edge of the bed with Steve and held his hand, looking away, feeling uncomfortable.

Dr. Gleason was nodding.  "All pretty common.  It will be sore for another day or two, and it's normal to experience periodic spasms or cramps," he said, reaching into his briefcase for a small bottle of clear gel.  "...this is going to be a little cold.  I'm going to reach up and check your cervix."

Tony winced.  He'd told Steve earlier he wasn't squeamish but he was now rethinking that statement.

"You're going to reach _inside_ him?" he blurted.

Dr. Gleason gave him a funny look.  "Well, yes.  That's where the cervix is.  It's not dissimilar to a prostate exam."

Tony hadn't ever had one of those but he wasn't going to admit that now.  He felt Steve's body tense a little and assumed that meant the doctor was up in there.  Gross.

"What are you... checking?" asked Tony.

"Dilation," said the doctor from between Steve's legs.  He was two fingers deep inside him.  "Sometimes, the cervix dilates when there's been a miscarriage."

"But... but they're common, right?"

"Oh, yes.  Still very tragic.  But sixty percent of male omegas experience a miscarriage, so you're not alone," he reassured Steve.

" _Sixty percent?_ " repeated Tony.

Dr. Gleason looked up briefly.  "...well.  That statistic is very likely padded by the amount of domestic violence male omegas face.  But yes.  About two out of three.  For female omegas, it's fifty percent, and for betas, about twenty percent."

"Maxwell's Equations," exclaimed Tony quietly.  "...but... but it's not a big deal, right?  He's... okay?"

"Everything looks normal, yes," said Dr. Gleason, still moving his fingers around.  Steve was squirming and Tony could practically feel the violation because he kept twitching and gripping Tony's hand every time the doctor hit a sensitive spot. 

Having someone else with two fingers up his ass was about the weirdest thing Steve had experienced since the novelty of being frozen alive. He tensed up almost immediately and Gleason had to keep reminding him to breathe. If Steve tensed up too much it would just hurt him further. He felt... tender down there, but not directly hurting.  The previous day, he's kept having what felt like muscle spasms of cramps.  Today it was just an ache.  The violation didn't hurt but Steve sure as hell didn't like it, either.  Steve didn't usually go up there other than for sexual reasons; have two fingers inside of him like this, in a clinical setting, was always going to be horribly uncomfortable.

"I had my first heat just over a month ago. I never cycled properly before the serum, so...I don't know what's normal for me," Steve admitted.  "So is my thing dilated?  Is it bad?"

Dr. Gleason looked up at Steve.  "It does feel dilated.  You're going to probably be spotting and have some nausea for a few days, along with some cramps.  If you need anything for the pain, I can write you a script.  But you'll be fine.  Are your heats cycling regularly?  Taking any suppressants or anything like that?"

"Suppressants don't work on Steve," butted in Tony.  "...can I ask a question?  About... him?  How's it work?"

"What, suppressants?"

"No.  Him getting knocked up.  They told us he was sterile 'cause of being frozen."

"Well, I'm guessing whoever told you that wasn't an omegologist. The body has a remarkable ability to heal itself, even without a super-soldier serum.  I doubt being frozen would affect the body much, other than delaying heats for a bit.  Trauma does that.  But there's no reason to assume he'd be sterile.  You're perfectly healthy, Captain.  Any omegologist would have been able to tell you that."

"...what's the _deal_ with omegologists?" asked Tony.

Dr. Gleason withdrew his fingers and stripped off his gloves.  He looked at Tony, waiting.

"I'm not making a joke.  I'm asking.  I don't understand why male omegas need a special doctor."

Dr. Gleason looked surprised, then quickly masked it.  "Male omegas have a unique reproductive tract, different than women's.  They have a cloaca, not a vagina.  They're completely different."

"...but Steve's is normal?"

"Perfectly normal and healthy."

"...he can have... babies?"

"Absolutely, if he wants to."

"But I had a vasectomy."

"Clearly, they failed to sever the vas deferens completely.  If it's not a clean cut, they can heal."

Tony pondered this.

Dr. Gleason filled in the silence.  "...did you know _cloaca_ is Latin for _sewer_?  ...I'm guessing it was an Alpha that named it that," he said with a small smile.

"God damn it, are you serious?" asked Tony angrily.  "We're just historically fucking awful, aren't we?"

Dr. Gleason leaned back.  "It was only a joke, Mr. Stark.  Cloacas were first described in chickens, if I recall correctly."

"So now Steve's a chicken?"  Tony's dander was up again.

Dr. Gleason ignored Tony and looked pointedly at Steve.  "Do you have any concerns or questions?  Everything looks and feels healthy.  You should avoid sex for a few days, but I expect your next heat will be normal.  There's no lasting damage at all.  If you decide to be a mother, or a father, in the future, I don't foresee any trouble."

Tony let out a sound of protest.  Steve, a mother.  Ridiculous.  Even _more_ ridiculous: Steve, a father.

Inspiration hit him.

"Steve can't get _himself_ pregnant right?"

Dr. Gleason looked at Tony like he wasn't sure whether he was kidding or not.  "...no.  No, one cannot impregnate himself."

Tony was starting to doubt his status as the world's third-smartest man.  "Just... checking."

"I'll leave you my contact details before I go," Gleason reassured Steve . "In case you're worried about anything in the future."

"I mean...what do we do when a heat comes around? Ideally I don't want to be pregnant any time soon. But they told me medication won't work. My body burns through it too fast... hell, when I was going to have a heat, they used emergency suppressants on me. My body burned through them in less than a minute."

Gleason frowned in thought. "Right. I'll...get back to you on that. I'll have to have a think. If Mr Stark was to have a real vasectomy that would obviously solve the issue. But it's a little early on for either of you to be making such serious decisions."

"But what do we do if you don't find a solution? Is it 100% with heats or...?"

"Yes. It essentially is," Gleason hummed. "If you have your heat together you will end up conceiving. Some couples spend their heats apart to try and avoid it but I wouldn't recommend it, it's not very good for your body or your mental health. But then, neither would getting pregnant twice or three times a year and getting terminations consequently."

Steve swallowed. He felt a little lost.

"Don't stress about it Captain. I'll come back to you with a solution by Christmas, you have my word.  If and when you decide to have whelps, we'll make sure it's on your terms, alright?"

"Alright," said Steve, feeling slightly better.  "Thanks."

"Of course, Captain.  Now, if that's all your questions...I recommend bed rest. No strenuous exercise and plenty of iron in your food."

"No exercise?  But Steve _loves_ exercise," protested Tony.

He was protesting the exercise thing because, oh God.  Oh God, no.  Steve was going to go into heat and then what?  Steve's heat on the plane, Tony remembered that all too well.  There was no way they'd be able to pause long enough to slap on a condom; Tony didn't even remember to wear one now, when they _weren't_ having a heat together.  They banged two or three times a week and since bonding, they'd barely touched the box of condoms they'd purchased back in June.

It was easier to protest the exercise thing than to start panicking.  It was only July.  They had, what, five or six months to figure it out?

"I can get another vasectomy though, right?" asked Tony.

"Yes, but if you want children--"

"Nope," said Tony quickly.  He felt a weird pang in his stomach and glanced at Steve.  He was pretty sure.  ...right?  He was busy, too busy for a child.  He was a drunk, like his father.  He and Steve had dangerous lifestyles.  And Steve couldn't get pregnant, he was Captain America, he was a soldier, and-- _a pregnancy would kill him._

The thought popped into Tony's head so suddenly that it took him a moment to realize it made absolutely no sense.  A headache flared up behind his eyes and he rubbed his head.

"What... what about the bullet wound?"

"It'll be closed by the end of the week.  If you stay out of the sun, you won't even have a scar," said Dr. Gleason, packing up his things.

Tony ran his thumb over Steve's knuckles.  He could think of about a million questions to ask about omegas and heats and suppressants and Steve's well-being, but he felt he'd already embarrassed himself enough by asking whether or not Steve could impregnate himself.

"...Miss Potts will see you out," he said, a bit stiffly, extending a hand to shake even though he hated shaking hands.

Dr. Gleason, however, reached for Steve's hand instead and shook it.  "I'm very sorry for your loss, Captain.  If you need any support, please feel free to call me and I can recommend some very good groups.  Or, if you prefer, private doctors to speak to.  I'll be in touch."

"...hey," demanded Tony suddenly.  "...are you in the sixty or the forty percent?"

"Sixty.  I lost my first," said Dr. Gleason.  He nodded to them.  Or rather, nodded to Steve.  "Bed rest," he added, pointedly.

Tony waited until he'd left the room and closed the door behind him to crawl on top of Steve, pressing him into the bed.  "Oh, fuck.  We're so screwed.  We're so screwed.  ...should we just stay apart when your heat comes?  Do we even know when that is?  Can we call Coulson and find out?  You cycle with him, right?  Oh, fuck.  I don't want kids.  Oh, fuck me.  ...we don't want kids, right?  Oh, fuck."

"I think..." Steve's voice was quiet. "I think Phil and Clint cycle around New Year time.  I'll have to check with them. For missions Clint's often on suppressants so I think his are a little confused at the moment."

Tony buried his face into Steve's neck and nuzzled him, mostly for his own comfort.  Steve's smell was almost as good as a couple of glasses of scotch.  (Almost.)  It was a relief to know Steve was okay, but not at all a relief to realize they'd been playing with fire for the last six weeks.

But Dr. Gleason had said he'd have a solution before Christmas.  That was promising. And it wasn't like Tony couldn't just get himself snipped again.

He relaxed a little.  "We really dodged a bullet."  He paused.  "Metaphorically, I mean.  Not literally.  Literally you... you got shot."  He laughed a little awkwardly.

"I am _not_ grateful that HYDRA made me have a miscarriage Tony," Steve said quietly, gaze fixed on the ceiling above and legs pressed together. They took the choice away but they also had no right to. Steve was angry that they took that from him, and that _Bucky_... Steve screwed his eyes shut and ran his hands over his face.

"I don't want kids now, no. But...like he said, it's kind of early to just make a decision like that Tony. What about...after HYDRA? Things will be different then. I don't know."

In Steve's mind there had to be an _after HYDRA._ He couldn't bear the thought of there not being, of them haunting him to his graze...Steve wouldn't have it. He always liked the idea of a family; it was appealing, but his idea of happiness had never depended on it. Security and just a _home_ were always his top priority.

"I-I j-just..." Steve's voice actually _wobbled_ but he wouldn't cry. He goddamn wouldn't. "My whole life, it was like I was broken...because I couldn't have- I just felt so useless. And then I was- and they just took that away from me. Like they took _everything_ else. They took my whole goddamn life.  My-- my past, and my mate.  And now they're coming after me, and they weren't shooting to kill. They wanted to _take_ me. It's like...they just won't let me be happy. After everything, they j-just..." Steve screwed his eyes shut. "...why won't they leave me _alone_?"

 _Shit_ , thought Tony.

He didn't trust himself to say the right thing, so he reached up to stroke Steve's hair.  He took his time formulating the right words.

"Steve.  Whether or not you have kids, you're not useless.  You're Captain America.  You helped win a war.  And now you're helping all the omegas who get a raw deal.  You're one of the most incredible, influential people that's alive today.  And you're going to be happy regardless of what those fuckers want. They can't take you.  You're Captain _fucking_ America.  You showed them that already.  You and me, and SHIELD... we're all gonna kick some ass, okay?  They surprised you once but that's not going to happen again."

Tony had been pretty serious about Steve taking his shield everywhere with him from now on.  Tony carried his suit around and look at how that had worked out for him in Monaco.

Maybe it was normal for Steve to feel emotional right now.  Hormones and junk.  They would feel better in a few days.  They hadn't even know they were--

"I love you," said Tony quietly.  He kissed Steve's neck.  "Let me take care of you for a few days.  You'll be okay, Steve."

He knew they were avoiding the topic of Bucky.  But he preferred it that way.  He couldn't handle that right now.

"...let me bring you breakfast, okay?  You need to eat something.  You heard the doctor.  You're healthy, you're normal... everything's going to be fine."

He gently moved to get off of Steve.  So Steve sounded like he might, possibly, want kids.  

Well, shit.

But Steve was only twenty-three.  Surely this wasn't anything they had to talk about now.  Tony was petrified of the idea of being responsible for a kid and felt mostly relief that Steve was okay.  But he could feel the hurt and loss coming off Steve, so he decided not to used the phrase "dodge a bullet" again.

Dr. Gleason would come up with something, if he was as brilliant as he seemed to be.

Tony leaned down to kiss Steve's temple before going to fetch him breakfast.  He'd never gotten anyone breakfast before in his life.  Well... there was a first time for everything.

Steve watched Tony go silently, not really knowing what to say after his little emotional outburst. He hadn't been planning it but all his anxieties just started tumbling out. It was easier with Tony than with anyone else. It felt good to get it out but now Steve was feeling strangely empty all over again, and almost queasy. But the doctor had said that was to be expected, hadn't he?

Before he could ponder any further his phone started ringing. After some searching Steve found it in his back jean pocket. It was Nat. He hesitated, then answered. Steve sighed. "Hey."

"Hey? Did you just 'hey' me, Rogers?" Natasha did not sound impressed. "Are the reports true?"

"I only got shot once--"

"I don't mean about that. I mean about _the Winter Soldier_."

Steve stilled. "Nat, I really don't wanna talk about that right now."

"Tough it out. We're _talking_ about it. Does Tony know?"

"That it's... it's him?  Yes."

"Well, wonderful. Then we can talk about it with him too and deal with this. Because this is real and because of the bond you are _both_ compromised now. How did he know you were at your old apartment?  Only you and Fury should have known, plus, what, _one_ guy from the WSC, Alexander Pierce, who called the meetings in the first place?  I'm worried Steve. Really worried and--"

"He made me have a miscarriage," blurted Steve.

Suddenly her voice sounded quiet. "...what?"

"He...he threw me against a wall and I just...yeah.  We didn't know.  Me and Tony.  We... I guess, during our honeymoon... y'know?  Yeah."

"They didn't mention that in the report."

Steve almost smiled. "Maybe Nick is softer than he lets on."

"Maybe," Natasha hummed and she went quiet for a short while. "I'm so sorry Steve. I didn't know. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. Do you know if Nick is doing okay?"

"On the mend, thanks to you, I hear. Look, I get you don't wanna talk about it. But I just gotta ask... did he recognise you?"

There was a pause.

"No," Steve whispered. "There was nothing."

"I'm not going to ask if you're sure it was him, because he was your mate Steve. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt; I trust you on this. I just want to say...I'm so, _so_ sorry this is happening to you."

A lump welled up in the back of Steve's throat. "Thanks Nat. Look, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

"Stay safe, Steve.  Get well soon, okay?" With that she hung up and Steve glanced up to see Tony in the doorway with a tray in his hands. He smiled weakly when he recognized the smell.

"Did you make the waffles yourself?" he asked, tone gently teasing.

"We both know if I made these, they would suck," said Tony, looking down at them.  "Pepper made them.  ...only the finest for you, Steve."  He walked over and placed the tray in front of Steve, nudging a glass of orange juice toward him.  "I did, however, pour this for you all by myself."  He paused.  "There's a huge mess in the kitchen.  Apparently I opened it wrong.  But hey!  Progress!"  He offered Steve a hopeful smile.

He'd spoken with Pepper, briefly in the kitchen.

"...so I guess Steve's gonna be okay," he'd said, softly.  "...and... he can have kids, I guess."

Pepper had eyed him, up and down.  She knew perfectly well how Tony felt about kids.  He wouldn't date women with kids; that was one of his only deal-breakers.

But instead of commenting, she'd said, "I talked to Aria.  You and Steve need to give a quick soundbite.  Nothing fancy, nothing special.  It can be from home.  People are scared.  Just show them you're okay, say that you dealt with the situation, and that everything is under control."

Tony went into the fridge and grabbed a new carton of orange juice, fighting to open it.  "No one knows about his...?"

"No."

"And the... Barnes situation?"

"Pretty sure only SHIELD's got that.  All people know is that there was an assassination attempt, Captain America was shot, and a bunch of armed gunmen did a lot of damage in downtown LA.  The news is saying it's a hate crime, because of his work with omega rights."

"I bet both SHIELD and HYDRA want it framed that way," said Tony, nodding.

"Tony, that carton has a spout, you just twist--"

He managed to tear open the carton and get juice everywhere. "Whoops.  Damn it."

"I don't understand how you can be so smart and still--" fussed Pepper, getting up to grab a dishrag.  "Go.  Just go, I'll clean it up, go."

Tony had taken the tray and went off, leaving her to deal with the mangled carton.

He sat on the edge of the bed while Steve attacked his breakfast, reaching up his robe to stroke his back.  "We need to let in one news crew to give them a soundbite.  Not an interview.  Just to. reassure people.  Pepper and Aria are setting it up.  We just smile for the camera, tell 'em we're okay, that that's that.  People think it was a hate crime.  You getting attacked.  ...as usual, you look like a total hero.  And there weren't any civilian casualties, FYI.  ...so everything's golden, Stevie."  He rubbed his shoulders, letting his thumb run over Steve's neck.   _Mine._

The food was gone in just about under fives minutes. It seemed not even getting shot could quell Steve's massive appetite. He sipped at the orange juice a little slower, however. He thought about what Tony was saying, thinking he could figure out what a 'soundbite' was in his head without having to ask (Steve was kind of sick about having to ask about things. Clint told him to just google stuff more, maybe he should.)

"A hate crime? It would be a pretty elaborate hate crime for just one guy," Steve pointed out quietly, but he didn't protest against the idea. He supposed it was better than people thinking HYDRA were still around and _still_ after him. In fact, he was pretty sure he preferred that idea too. "So..it's not like an interview? We just say we're good? There ain't any...questions?"

He shivered a little as Tony's thumb traced over raised skin. "Will you be there too?"

"Anyone who wanted to assassinate you would have to be pretty elaborate about it.  You're Captain America," pointed out Tony.  "...no, it's not like an interview.  It's more like a mini press-release.  There might be one or two questions that we pre-arrange.  And yeah, I'll be there.  C'mon, Rogers, I'm like a bad penny.  I'm everywhere."  He watched Steve picking away at the crumbs.  The guy ate like five meals a day and still always acted ravished.  "...it'll be easy.  You and me will sit on the couch together, holding hands, and say something heroic, like... well, remember that Marley quote I told you about?   _The people who were trying to make this world worse are not taking the day off. Why should I?_ We'll say something like that, basically.   _It takes more than a couple of men with guns to stop the march of progress_.  Oh, yeah.  That's good.  ...sweet Edison I'm good.  ...I actually sort of love this stuff.  You want to do this this evening or tomorrow?  After they set up the cameras it'll take like thirty minutes to record."

Tony had done plenty of these after Afghanistan, and plenty more after the debut of Iron Man.  He'd gotten good at condensing big ideas into easy-to-digest ten-minute segments that various news outlets snatched up, chopped up, and aired ad nauseum.

Once they got the press off their backs, Tony wanted to slip back into their domestic routine.  Work in the shop, on his suit and his cars, safe in his isolation.  He was glad he had a home gym; he didn't want Steve leaving again.  He knew he was being paranoid, but his paranoia was perfectly reasonable, in his opinion.  The thought that Steve had left the house and that Tony might have never seen him again made his blood curdle.  He needed to get back to the safety of their day-to-day life.  And even though he knew that Steve was very likely itching to go do field work for SHIELD, he was willing to bet that SHIELD wasn't planning on sending him anywhere anytime soon... not after seeing how badly HYDRA wanted him.

* * *

"Mission report."

Those were the two worst words he could have imagined hearing.  He kept his gaze steady as he explained what had happened.  There was no way to sugar-coat it.  He was incapable of lying.  The conclusion was simple: he had failed.

One man was swiveling idly in a chair, tapping a pencil against his lips.  "To be fair," he said, "if the Winter Soldier were as good as Captain America, we wouldn't need Captain America."

One of the other men scoffed.  "He had back-up.  We had a dozen men on this, and the element of surprise.  It shouldn't have been botched this badly."

"Any word on Fury?"

"No.  He's either dead or he's holed up somewhere on his last legs.  SHIELD swooped in and took him from the hospital within twelve hours; he's at a black site now.  We can't confirm his death until one of the moles on the Council gets word."

Everyone seemed to heave a collective sigh.

He was tense.  Prepared to receive his due.  The worst-case scenario was the chair, a re-training session.  But he also expected to be slapped around a bit.  They did that, when they were frustrated.  He wasn't looking forward to it.  He healed quickly, but nonetheless, he'd had surgery recently; the eye that had gone fuzzy was fixed but he still got terrible headaches behind it, and his teeth were delicate after the doctor's attention to them.

"Now what?"

"Now what nothing!" snapped Karpov.  "He knows we're after him now.  It's back to the drawing board.  We can't use the asset a second time.  Too risky."

"Too risky?  For who, the asset?  Who cares?  We're retiring the program anywhere.  His last act might as well be to help us get Rogers.  Then we can restart the program... without any of the speed bumps from last time.  Zola's approximation of the serum was good, but it was never even close to Stark's."

"I got you Stark's!  What more do you want?  What about all the others--"

"--you know we can't use them.  They're feral.  Too dangerous.  We need Rogers."

Karpov reached for his face.  He blinked, but didn't move.  If he got hit, he got hit.

Karpov didn't hit him.  He brushed the hair away from his face instead.  He felt affection for his handler.  Karpov, he knew, was proud of him; he'd often heard him stand up for him before, when others doubted him.

One of them was eyeing him suspiciously.  "Perhaps his failure is due to a failure in his programming."

Karpov bristled.  "There is no failure in his program."

"No?  Ever since '86, he's been... off.  Now you send him after another person known to him, you think that won't compromise him even more?  For all we know, he let him get away.  The men who were there to witness it are dead."

Karpov slammed a fist on the table.  " _He isn't compromised._ "

"Ask him yourself," said the man who was swiveling on the chair.

At this, Karpov hesitated.  He looked at the soldier, then said, "...солдат.  Did you recognize your target?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

He pulled out the magazine picture from his pocket, feeling disappointed that it would probably get taken away now.  "I've seen him."

"Where?" pressed Karpov, taking the picture.

"I don't know."

" _Where?_ "  Karpov gave him a slap.

"--a dream," he said.

One of the men groaned.  "Now he's _dreaming_.  Oh, you're in trouble now, Colonel."  One of the other men was sniggering.

"A dream?" repeated Karpov.  His voice was quiet and dangerous.  "What dream?"

"I-- I had a dream that I-- I was in a restaurant, maybe, or a bar--"  His voice was unsure.  He didn't remember it well.  He didn't remember anything well.  "--his name is Captain Rogers.  He-- he asked if I was angry at him and then he said-- he said that I'd been different since I came back, and he couldn't feel me anymore, but that was what I wanted."

The man in the chair stopped swiveling.

"Couldn't feel you?" repeated Karpov, pressing him for more information.

"Yes."  He struggled to think of something more to say.  "My omega was sick.  I couldn't mate him.  He was always so angry at me.  But I didn't want to hurt him.  We were pals, ever since we were kids..."  His accent sounded unfamiliar, even to him now.  "...but I had to keep him safe, he was always gettin' into scraps, he was so stubborn.  Then I signed up for the war.  And when I saw him again he didn't need me anymore.  The mark was gone.  And he said he couldn't feel me."

Every man in the room was staring at him.  The man who'd been swiveling in the chair had dropped his pencil.

"Soldier," demanded one of them.  ".. _.were you bonded_?"

The question sounded strange in the past tense.  If you were bonded, you were bonded.  End of story.  They made it sound like you could just turn a bond off and everyone know that was impossible.  Only the worst of the worst Alphas would ever sever a bond, and omegas couldn't.  Bonds generally only disappeared in death.

It was such a simple question.  No one had ever asked him that before.  Yet he didn't known the answer.  He felt confused and upset that he didn't.  Was he?  At times he'd almost felt like he and Karpov were pair-bonded.  They were, after all, inseparable.  Karpov had been his handler for as long as he could remember.  But they were both Alphas.

" _Answer him_!" barked Karpov, giving him another slap.

"Confirm!" he barked automatically.

"...you don't think...?"

"It's impossible."

"Tell us the name of your omega."

His stomach was twisting even worse.  He didn't know.  Oh God.  Why didn't he know?  In rare moments of questioning, he would sometimes realize, horrified, that he didn't remember his own name or his mother's face or where he'd been born or what year it was, and he would panic.  Those panics inevitably led him to the chair.

He was trying not to panic now because he really, really didn't want to be re-trained; it was so painful.  But Karpov and another man were both getting up close to him and kept demanding the panic was rising rapidly.

"I don't--"

" _Tell us the name of your omega_."

"I can't remember," he said, and his voice wavered.  He was shaking.  He was displaying weakness.  Yes, he was definitely going back to the chair for this one.

"Tell us--"  Slap.  "--the name--" Slap.  "--of your--" Slap.

"Stevie," he said suddenly.  He wasn't even aware the name had fallen from his lips until he'd heard it himself.  The moment he'd said it, though, he genuinely wanted to cry.  He hadn't felt anything this strongly in... ever, actually.  Not that he could remember.

Karpov's hand froze mid-slap.  For a moment he didn't move.  Then his hand finished its arc, slowly, and fell onto his cheek.  Karpov patted him, and turned and looked at the others.

Every man in the room looked dumbfounded.

"Ни хуя́ себе́!" said one of the men finally.

"Ни хуя́," echoed Karpov

"How the hell didn't we--"

"We asked him!  We asked him if he was bonded and he said no!  None of the reports from the forties mentioned it.  They would have mentioned it, wouldn't they have?  Wouldn't Lukin had mentioned it?"

"There's no indication he was bonded, none."

Karpov was eyeing him, studying his face.  "...why did you lie to us?"

"I didn't lie.  After Howard gave him the serum, the mark was gone," he said rapidly, not wanting to get slapped again.  His teeth were too sensitive from the recent surgeries Dr. Liebmann had performed.  "It was gone and we-- we never talked about it.  He kept callin' me-- kept callin' me Barnes instead of Bucky and I didn't think he wanted the other boys to know, 'cause he was the captain, and all he'd ever wanted was to join the army and be-- be treated like an Alpha, I told you, he was real head-strong, and I figured he didn't want me to call attention to him bein' a horseshoe, and he was so mad at me 'cause I'd never mated him, but I couldn't, see?  I _couldn't_ do that, it woulda killed him!"  He was getting choked up.  Years of feeling his omega's desire... God, that had been torture.  Yet still, even though he'd always refused Steve's affection, he'd still come home every night to a warm meal.  Steve had been a good omega and he'd never even told him that.  "I stopped feeling the bond in Azzano.  Jim Morita, he was bonded, too, and they experimented on him, too, and his bond got broke, too.  And since me n' Steve couldn't feel each other and Steve's neck wasn't marked no more I thought he just wanted to start over like we weren't even bonded so... so we weren't really bonded anymore, not really, at least not like we could actually _feel_ it."

The men in the room didn't look sympathy.  Quite the contrary.  They looked _delighted_.

"Looks like you won't have to retire after all, Colonel," said one of the men with a laugh.

Karpov turned his gaze to his soldier, and the Winter Soldier was surprised to see there was no anger there.  Even though he'd displayed emotion, which he wasn't supposed to.  Karpov didn't look angry.  He looked... triumphant.

Karpov reached out and he flinched away, but Karpov was only going to pat his cheek again.  He relaxed.  "Good boy," said Karpov, gently, and the words were like music to his ears.


	7. The Dilemma of a Soldier's Mate

The press release passed by in a strange sort of blur. Aria came around for it, so she and Tony actually met for the first time. She and Pepper were clearly good, or at least old, friends, and exchanged a hug of sorts. Aria's attention was focused on Steve, not Tony; still, she offered him a small nod and told him it was good to meet him in the flesh. So much of Steve's life was affected by Tony, she felt she knew the man already... and admittedly, Steve had completely changed Aria's previous conceptions of him. Before she just assumed he was just another brash Alpha who was a womanizer and a party animal. But Steve had showed her a completely different side of him. If Aria had met Stark a year ago she probably wouldn't have been so polite.

To be fair, before they had bonded, Tony _had_ been just another brash Alpha who was a womanizer and a party animal

The press release was as boring as expected, and as cheesy as the lines Tony had produced before. Steve didn't really remember it, nor was he especially aware of what he was saying. He remembered hearing Tony's voice, and then his own, and thinking that the lights around them were too bright in the living room - couldn't they see the huge, windowed walls? There was enough light in here already. It was a nice day outside. They didn't need any more lights.

Maybe Steve was just focusing on the annoyance of the lights so that he wouldn't think about the parts of the press release that were conspicuously absent.  Like the injuries Steve had suffered.  Like the moment he'd looked Bucky in the eye for the first time in sixty-five years and failed to see even a glimmer of recognition.

They focused instead on reassuring the public that everyone was safe and that they were cooperating with the government to make sure the gunmen were brought to justice and that another unprovoked terror attack would never, ever happen again.

"Hey, you did good. Both of you. I think we've got this," Aria said, patting Steve's arm good-naturedly as camera crews and lighting riggers moved around their living room, trying not to upset any of the hundreds of orchids. "The next proper interview you guys do should be a pair one. I might get you something on a Christmas chatshow, okay? We need to cement _this_." She gestured to both of them like their bond was tangible in the air. Aria was a beta; she couldn't feel it but she'd worked with enough couples to know what she was dealing with.

"Sounds good," Steve said even though it didn't sound _good_. It sounded stressful. Would they start asking about them having a family again? Aria said the presidential dinner was beginning to come out into the public domain- no one was mentioning Steve's entrance, thank God. It was all incredibly positive.

The days passed easily enough and Steve healed perfectly well. They fell back into their routine but there was a new anxiousness to it- outside the house no longer felt safe. There was the constant but silent threat of HYDRA around them, lingering at all times... Steve didn't go jogging without Sam now. He dragged Tony along if he wanted to eat out, or he went with Pepper to go shopping. Gleason visited a few times to check over Steve and kept assuring them he'd have something by Christmas...but he didn't ever give them any real answers.

Tony could tell, over the next few weeks, how stressed Steve was, and he tried to be supportive.  Admittedly, though, Tony's feelings were mostly those of relief. Steve was okay, and not pregnant.  Steve was no longer leaving the house alone. Steve was safe and that was frankly all Tony cared about.  Personally, he was happy being a homebody. He spent long hours in his shop tinkering with the latest suit, which he'd gotten to come to him in modules but which had a bad habit of not hitting the right parts of his body (or hitting them too hard and leaving purple-black bruises; it was a small miracle that he didn't break anything in any of the initial test runs).

He floated around the house trying to avoid the sudden influx of people.  He didn't mind Pepper, who had apparently taken it upon herself to help Steve catch up with modern culture.  While Tony was busy trying to explain Duran Duran and _The Godfather_ , Pepper recognized that, for someone who had lived through the twenties and thirties, Steve wasn't such a big fan of slasher flickers or electric guitars.  Steve and Pepper both liked lighthearted movies, and Steve was fascinated with modern animation. She took him shopping (something Tony would rather die than do; he had several shirts in his wardrobe that were several decades old) and occasionally dragged him to a concert or art show that she thought they'd enjoy.  Tony was happy to have her around again; she seemed more willing to come by now that Tony was in a stable relationship.

But, Pepper aside, there were a lot of others.  The occasional SHIELD agent, and Dr. Gleason, and Sam.  The first time Tony had run into Sam, he and Steve were going for an early morning jog.  It was 5:30 in the morning and Tony was coming up from the shop, getting ready for bed; he had been scruffy and covered in engine grease and more than a few shots of liquor in, and he'd managed to overturn one of their many orchids trying to scramble up the stairs unnoticed.  It wasn't that Tony wasn't an extrovert-- he was and always had been-- it was just that his home was a sacred place that he preferred to keep to himself, and ever since Steve had moved it, it seemed a lot less private.

Even though he wasn't crazy about all the visitors, he knew Steve needed the interaction.  Steve was getting cabin fever, being cooped up in the house, even as large as it was. He spent long hours in the home gym and more than once, Tony had found him pacing around.  Steve's metabolism meant he ate more and slept less and was often twitchy with energy. Tony didn't complain when Sam came by, knowing that Steve was desperate to keep working out.  Sadly, though, he doubted Steve got much by running alongside Sam; Steve didn't wear out like normal people. In one week alone, he destroyed every punching bag in the house, including Happy.

July slid into August, then early September, and Steve moped around anxiously.  They were using condoms a lot more regularly now. There had been no more talk of Bucky, for which Tony was grateful.

Steve didn't dream about Bucky anymore. He felt both relieved and sad- the final point of contact seemingly severed for now. A month after the attack Natasha texted to let him know that Fury was fully recovered, which was a relief. After everything... Fury wasn't allowed to die.  Not after they survived all of that together.  Steve texted him but received no reply.  He tried to call but was directed to his voicemail.  He took a hint and stopped trying to contact him.

It was a few weeks in that Steve got the call. It was Phil. "Captain Rogers, we found something.  Something that might be big."

"Phil...it's six in the morning. I'm not really in the mood for you being cryptic right now.  Just tell me what you found."

"Yes... yes. Okay. It's a base. We think we might have a Winter Soldier lead. We don't know if he's there or not, but there might be some answers.  The base is dedicated to the recruitment and study of enhanced persons.  Mutants, mostly, but it's a facility that would have the equipment to work on the Winter Soldier as well. It shouldn't be too much of a fight.  Just a basic in-and-out stealth mission, intel collection.  We thought we'd offer."

"I'm in," Steve said instantly. "I'll just... I'll have to ask Tony. When do you want me there?"

"We'll pick you up tomorrow morning. See you then Captain."

Steve hung up and dragged a hand over his face.  He was alone in bed; Tony's side was empty.  Steve sighed and reached for a pair of sweatpants crumpled beside the bed.  He had long since learned that, if Tony didn't come to bed and wasn't there when he woke up, he was usually down in the garage, lost in work.

Sure enough, Tony was down in the shop struggling to wrench open the valve on an oxygen tank; he had the wrench fixed and was pulling with his entire body weight on it, the muscles in his arms popping, but he'd been awake all night and exhaustion was starting to set in.  He half-smelled, half-sensed a familiar presence; he looked up to see Steve.

"Hiya.  Can you get this bad boy open for me?  I need to weld something," said Tony, relaxing a little and gesturing to the wrench.  He glanced at his watch; it was just past 6 am.

Steve had a look on his face.  A serious one.

"...now what?" asked Tony, leaning against the tank.  He studied Steve's face. He knew that look. That was Steve's Captain-America-there's-no-time-like-the-present-someone-has-to-do-something look.  He _hated_ that look.

Steve walked over to the tank, holding Tony's suspicious gaze as he moved to open the tank in one go. He sighed. He already knew this wouldn't go down well. But Tony knew who he was bonded to: a _soldier._ He had to be ready for the idea of Steve sometimes going away, sometimes risking his life. That was what Steve did. That was what he _was_ . Tony knew he was going stir crazy inside the house as it was. The only thing getting him out at the moment was interviews and jogging; it was September and the only thing he had to look forward to was the stupid talk show interview in _December_.  Surely Tony understood he couldn't remain cooped up like this forever.

"I have a mission. They've called for me." Steve said quietly. "Just a HYDRA base, nothing big. It's a research lab. Natasha will be coming too, I imagine, if that... makes it any better," he murmured and his gaze dropped down to the floor briefly before he braved Tony's facial expression.

"... _just_ a HYDRA base?  HYDRA, like, the guys who tried to kill you recently?" repeated Tony.  In an instant, his hackles were up and he was bristling.

"Did you even manage to get any sleep?" Steve asked with a sigh.  He didn't want to have this conversation while Tony was tired because Tony got cranky and emotional when he was exhausted.

Tony hadn't gotten sleep but his earlier exhaustion was gone, replaced with adrenaline.

"You can't go.  ...Steve. Steve, they gotta send someone else.  Why aren't they sending me? They can't send you, you're... busy," protested Tony.  A corner of his upper lip was twitching. "It's too dangerous, you can't go to a HYDRA base, they tried to kidnap you, they _want_ you to go there.  Call SHIELD up, tell them I'll go, I've been upgrading the suit anyway, it'll be better if it's me."

He reached up to rub the back of his neck vigorously, but his hair refused to flatten.

"You can come with me, but I'm still going Tony," Steve breathed. "They're sending me because I'm the best person to go. Dissecting a base isn't just about strength, it's about tactics and I'm _good_ at that. This is my _job_. This is what SHIELD recruited me for. This isn't even a high risk mission.  You gotta let me do this.  I want your support in this. I want to know that my Alpha believes in me and is behind me."

He looked at Tony imploringly. It was hard to express how important this was to him. Steve wanted- no, _needed_ to prove this to SHIELD. He needed to prove that he was still capable, that he was still Captain America.  That one little ambush and one little miscarriage had not compromised him.  "I want to hit back. I want to show them they can't just try and take me and suffer no goddamn consequences."

Tony's hair only bristled more when Steve's Brooklyn accent crept into his voice.  "... _no_ .  How the hell isn't a HYDRA base a high-risk mission?  Huh? You have my support, you know that. I totally believe in you and I'm totally behind you, but _c'mon_ , Steve!  It's a HYDRA base, not a Baskin-Robbins!  ...this sounds like a stupid revenge mission to me.  They attacked you, now you want to attack them. How do we know it's not a trap, huh?  How do we know they're not just luring you into their gingerbread house?"

Tony had known this would come eventually.  He was over-tired from not sleeping and he wasn't taking it as well as he'd hoped he would.  Steve was standing there, feet planting, back straight, jaw set. His gaze was firm. Tony knew arguing was pointless but he couldn't help it.  It wasn't hat he was scared of Steve going; it was that he was scared Steve wouldn't come back. That Natasha or Sam would return and hand him a folded up flag or something and tell him Steve had served his country and he ought to be proud, and all the stability his life had finally gained would crumble around him and he'd be left by himself in a too-big house that was filled nothing but hundreds of orchids.

"It doesn't need _dissected_ , it needs _bombed_ , why are you guys trying to infiltrate the base, anyway?  Just blow it up! Fuck, Steve, I'll do it, it's easy, I have missiles that can blow open bunkers, you don't even have to go inside..."

"Because there's information inside that we want. It's a _research lab_ Tony. They might be trying to recreate the serum in there and we need to know how close they're getting.  They might have records of the Winter Soldier that could lead us to him.  They might have contact information for other bases that we could use to-- look, there's a ton of intel there, and tt could  be anything. We are not just blowing it up. And I'm not going in there by myself, Tony, I'll have an entire _team!_ " Steve said, exasperated. "This time it will be us taking HYDRA by surprise, not the other way around. This isn't about revenge; this is about living up to expectations. I've been back for over half a year and I haven't been on a single mission Tony.  I'm _bored_."

"But you're _safe_.  I can't let you storm in there Rambo-ing every single HYDRA agent you see.  Rambo is a--"

" _I know who Rambo is._ We're not going to kill every single HYDRA agent we see.  We kill the minimum that we have to, and then we capture the rest. That's the way it's done, Tony, because we're _better_ than them," Steve breathed. "Please. Don't fight me with this. Just give me this chance. If I get hurt again I won't go on another HYDRA mission, okay? I just want _one_ chance to prove you to you that I can do this. I'm sick of hiding from HYDRA. I think it's about time I turned the tables on them, don't you think?"

"You're not _hiding._ You're..."  Tony searched for the right term.  "...you're... you're taking a break.  You got _shot_ less than six weeks ago."

"I'm hiding. This is me hiding. I don't leave the house alone anymore Tony, Christ...it's like I'm a... a kept woman, and it's driving me _insane_."

Steve still had that _look_.

Tony walked over to Steve.  He was barefoot, and so was Steve; Tony was shorter by several inches.  He wrapped his arms around Steve and pressed his face into the other's chest.

 _Motherfucker,_ he thought.

"I want in.  When's the debriefing?" he demanded.  If Steve was going to go, Tony was going to go with him.  Worse case scenario, he'd be able to haul Steve out of harm's way in the suit.  Even if Steve was kicking and screaming. It occurred to him, darkly, that if Steve hadn't miscarried in July, that by now he'd be three months along, and they'd probably know, and Steve sure as hell wouldn't be volunteering for stupid, dangerous missions.

"The debriefing is on the jet ride over. They've sent me the files to go over this afternoon. And if you're coming, you really need to sleep Tony. You're tired, I can feel it. And I can't let you out in a fight fatigued; that's a recipe for disaster," Steve said firmly. 

Tony he pulled away from Steve, glaring.  "You've been back over half a year and you've been on at least one mission.  You _spied_ on me," he accused. "Does a mission only count if you're putting your life on the line?  Is that it? You fought in World War Two, Steve. You earned a break. You don't have to keep throwing yourself on the front lines."

"Has it occurred to you that I don't _want_ a break? You're in the workshop almost all of the time because this is what you _do_ . Can you imagine how you'd feel if you hadn't been in the workshop for over half a year? You'd be losing it Tony. Well, I _am_ losing it . This is what I was _made_ for.  I'm going whether you like it or not. You have a day to make up your mind about tagging along," he told him and then back to head up the stairs to the house itself. This argument wasn't going to get either of them anywhere.

Tony knew Steve's mind was already made up.

The aggression he'd felt initially was fading into a dull sense of defeat.  Of helplessness. Steve was going to do this no matter how well he argued against it.   

"Fuck!" growled Tony, aiming a kick at the cylinder.

Behind him, 7UMM-E made a soft whirring noise.

"Don't _you_ start!" he snapped at it.  "...Steve! Wait! I'm coming with you!"  He hurried after him. He knew everything Steve had said was true.  Steve was, literally, made for this; he'd volunteered; he'd _wanted_ to be a soldier.  And he knew Steve was going crazy; he could feel the tension, the restlessness.

The Alpha in him, instinctually, wanted to protect Steve.  Wanted to lock him up and guard him and never let him out. But it was the twenty-first century and Steve was a person, not some toy poodle, and Tony knew, logically, he had to let the guy go.

New plan: get trashed, maybe see if he could have a good aggressive fuck with Steve, and then fall asleep.

"Steve.  You don't need my permission but you got it," said Tony, hurrying up the stairs after him.  "I want to go with you, okay? I'll sleep, I'll go sleep right now. I know you're going stir crazy and I know you want to go fight the good fight and-- fuck, I've been there, okay, I get it, I've been on more than one avenging spree.  Lemme come with you, at least. I'll even obey orders." He added, sarcastically, " _Captain_ ," before he could help himself.  Despite the sarcasm, he meant it. He'd rather be there with Steve and know what was happening than sitting at home, terrified for Steve's safety, waiting to see whether or not he'd return.

It was better, knowing.

He slipped his arm around Steve's waist again.  The only thing Tony really found comforting was the knowledge that Steve could tear a regular person limb from limb.  He wasn't small, or weak, or sick; Steve was capable of handling himself. With his shield, he was deadly. That was a small comfort, at least.

If Steve had been different-- smaller, more fragile-- Tony would never have been okay with it.  How Natasha could stand letting Clint disappear for months at a time on dangerous, classified missions, Tony had no idea.

The subject of the tesseract hadn't come up lately, for which he was thankful.  But Clint was still absent, conspicuously so. He texted Steve once in a while, but that was it.  No one had seen him since June. Tony thought Natasha must be going crazy, but she seemed perfectly content.  As if Clint weren't in danger. Then again, maybe he wasn't. Maybe guarding the tesseract was the safest assignment in the world, and Natasha's ease came from knowing that Clint wasn't running around shoot arrows at men with guns.

Tony wished, briefly, someone would give Steve something to guard so he'd feel useful without being in danger.

Steve sighed and leaned back into Tony's touch. He let his eyes slip shut briefly, just savouring the touch. Tony had been hidden away in the lab for far too long, he felt. He turned around in his arms and ran his hands down Tony's shoulders and arms. Steve leaned his head against Tony's forehead and sighed yet again. "I know. I know I don't need your approval, but I want it Tony, okay? Because it means something to me," he murmured.  "But please. Go sleep." Steve kissed his forehead, thumbs brushing against Tony's collarbone. "I want you at your best.  It will take me about six hours to sort through everything SHIELD's sent me," he said quietly and stepped back, his shoulders already less tense now him and Tony were finally agreeing. It was a relief. He hated to go into a fight in a bad mood. "I'll wake you up with waffles and coffee when I'm done, okay?"

"Waffles and coffee?   Forget that, wake me up with a blowjob," replied Tony, giving Steve's ass a slap.  He scurried away before Steve could retaliate, knocking over an orchid and cackling as he ran up the stairs.

He stripped off his sweat- and oil-soaked clothes and tossed them to the floor of the bedroom, and made a brief detour to the master bathroom to grab some pills from the medicine cabinet.  Tony doubted he'd go down without them. He was too stressed out, too wired.

He felt like SHIELD had done this on purpose, given them only _one_ day's notice.  Probably because they knew if they had more, Tony would be able to wear Steve down, guilt him out of the mission, maybe, find some excuse not to do it.

He felt annoyed that SHIELD had contacted Steve directly and sent him the files, leaving Tony out of the loop.  Granted, Steve had seniority over him, and Steve was a captain, and all that, but Tony couldn't shake the usual feeling that he was entitled to something as Steve's Alpha.

That's what it boiled down to, really.  Tony was entitled and always had been. His station, status, everything about him put him in a position where he got what he wanted, when he wanted.  Steve had been challenging that notion a lot lately. Actually, almost constantly. Steve had put a damper on his drinking and his partying and Tony hadn't slept with a woman since May.

He settled down into their bed, using Steve's pillow instead of his own.  He'd taken three benadryl and two clonazepams and sleep was coming on hard, but his thoughts were still turning.

This was yet another thing Steve wasn't happy about.  Aside from drinking, Tony employed an elaborate method of self-medication that was probably not very healthy.  When he was stressed, he took pills to sleep because it was the only way to prevent himself from having nightmares.  Steve had nightmares, too, sometimes, but pills didn't work on him. Nothing did, really. But even if they had, Tony knew Steve was the kind of guy who'd stick it out.  Deal with it. Tony wasn't like that. Why do things the hard way? One of the things he loved about robotics was automating difficult tasks.

It seemed unfair how thoroughly Tony had altered his lifestyle, and here Steve was, dangling the "let me make my own choices" card over his head.

His last thought before he passed out was that maybe, if he left Steve start going on dangerous missions he didn't approve of, it would give him some leverage to start flirting with women again.

 _Ha,_ he thought groggily, _not a snowball's chance in hell._

And with that, he was out.

Downstairs, Steve settled onto the couch with a tablet and a cup of coffee.  (Even if caffeine didn't do much for him anymore, he still liked the taste and the warmth.)  SHIELD was already combarding him with files, and those files sent his head spinning. Experiment after experiment was recorded, but the details were hazy (which explained SHIELD wanting to get in there). All the names were blurred out but when Steve saw sentences like _having trouble with arm. Adjustments needed,_ and he didn't need to be told who it was about. It was chilling. Especially with sentences like: _Target eliminated. Targets taken in_ at the end of each report. Steve soon skipped the reports and moved onto blueprints of the outside of the base, which were detailed enough to need some deciphering. His mind was soon churning through ideas and identifying infiltration points, the experiment report forgotten in place of the task at hand.

Steve was so excited. He was giddy and hyper at the idea of going back out into the field. Steve couldn't wait to do his bit again, to be a _part of_ _something_. He was also looking forward to actually going out on a mission with Nat and Sam, for once; he'd trained with them for long enough. The hours flew by; Steve devoured toast and soon he had a set of plans at the back of his mind, ready to adapt to a multitude of situations if he had to.

When it was about seven in the evening Steve called it a day and dropped his tablet down onto the sofa before heading up the stairs to their bedroom. He hesitated in the doorway, watching Tony sleep. He looked peaceful, until he stirred, grunting softly in his half-awakened state. Steve stepped forward, "Tony? Hey? You awake?" He asked softly and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Tony didn't move. Steve sighed and slumped down on the sheets beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

"Tony?" Steve turned over onto his front, nudging his nose against Tony's cheek. "You need to wake up."

"Mm'wake," mumbled Tony groggily.  Fuck. The pills had done a number on him.

How long had he been asleep?  He'd gone down at seven but the light coming in from the west windows was long and hazy and orange and he felt completely disoriented.

He grabbed his pillow and weakly bopped Steve with it as he nuzzled his cheek. "Waffles.  Blowjob," he mumbled half-heartedly, not wanting to move. He did this often, fucking up his sleep cycles completely by staying up for a day or two and then crashing all day and waking up in the evening.

Steve's body was huge next to his.  He liked the way it depressed the bed, made the sheets warm.  Tony was selfish in bed; he sprawled out all over the place and hogged the covers, because he'd never really slept with another person much.  Steve, on the other hand, always seemed to curl up and snuggle into him. Tony tried not to read into that too much. Maybe it wasn't a Bucky thing, maybe it was a poor-guy-only-ever-had-a-twin-bed-and-an-army-cot thing.

Anyway, sleeping (or passing out, whatever) for twelve hours had made him feel a lot calmer.  Or at least groggy. Grog, calm, same difference.

"'s time for mission?" he mumbled, cracking open an eye.  Steve's eye, bright blue, was in his field of vision. "Lemme get a shower and throw on my suit, gimme a sec."  He yawned expansively and stretched, making no move to actually get up.

Steve couldn't help but chuckle when Tony bopped him with the pillow. He caught it and gently tugged on it to tug Tony closer. He pressed a kiss to his cheek. "We have like...eight hours. I woke you up with time for waffles, and whatever else," his voice dropped a tone quieter. "But you really should shower first," he told him with a half smile.

The hours before a fight were always...strange. It was a time of quiet excitement and giddy anticipation. It was a time to cherish what you had just in case you didn't get time to later. Not that Steve had any doubts about this mission...but within twelve hours they would be in a fight, probably killing people who were trying to kill them, and that sort of thing made you appreciate the calm before the storm. Steve didn't want to have any regrets.

"Shower," mumbled Tony affirmatively, giving Steve a thumbs-up.

"I'll bring food up when it's ready," Steve told him softly and then slipped away to downstairs.

Tony groaned in reply.  He knew Steve had left not because he'd made any sound, but because his smell disappeared.  Steve smelled... excited. Not happy, exactly. But energized. The way Tony felt when he finally cracked a tough problem.

He was glad Steve was feeling fulfilled, but he thought about the mission with dread.  He wasn't a soldier. Wasn't an assassin or spy or... whatever the fuck Fury was. Tony was a businessman who'd taken to wearing a suit of armor for fun.  And it was great fun, because he was invincible in it, and because he didn't care about his own well-being very much. But having someone he cared about, someone made of very mortal flesh instead of a gold-titanium-samarium alloy... that was different.  He didn't want people shooting at Steve and he didn't like how eager Steve seemed to be to be shot at.

He could begrudgingly appreciate at least one thing about Steve's old Alpha.  Bucky had wanted to protect him. Tony understood that. He still hadn't told Steve his inner thoughts (or rather, _Bucky's_ inner thoughts) because he felt it would only torture Steve to know he'd been loved all along.  Tony was still convinced that Bucky was dead and Steve was confused about the Winter Soldier. He felt that they should at least stay the fuck away from HYDRA until _that_ hoary chestnut was dealt with.  Let Natasha go kill the Winter Soldier and _then_ they could deal with all the other HYDRA lowlifes... the ones that didn't make Steve go all weird and crazy.

Tony must have drifted off again because the next thing he was aware of was the smell of something rich and bacon-y.

"I'm up," he announced, which was a blatant lie.  He was still sprawled across the bed in his shorts, unshowered and very much asleep.  Tony had learned to say "I'm up" very convincingly, no matter how tired or half-asleep he was, thanks to Pepper, who had learned the only way to actually guarantee that he was up was to yank the sheets off of him and, in extreme cases, physically roll him out of bed and throw clothes at him.

He thought he heard Steve make a noise of disapproval but he didn't move.  He had distinctively heard they had another eight hours. That was eight hours Tony could be passed out, where, blissfully unconscious, he wouldn't have to think about Steve running around having people trying to kill him.

"Tony..." Steve sighed fondly and went to set the food down by the bedside, the bacon shiny with syrup. He sat down on Tony's edge of the bed and reached over, tucking a loose strand of hair away from his face. Tony always got spectacular bed hair; it was strange and intimate seeing him so unpolished at times. "It's okay. We have time." He murmured and drew his fingers down across Tony's cheek almost as if he was making an effort to remember it. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and drew his hand back.  "But you oughta eat now. Don't want it to get cold.  Hey, and there's coffee, too." Steve said, looking over at the tray briefly before back to Tony. Who still looked utterly dead to the word. "You know... you don't have to come on this if you don't want to, right?"

Well, _that_ woke him up.

Tony's eyes snapped open and he sat up.  This was the Tony Stark most people never got to see; his hair was in all directions and his beard, usually sharply defined, was losing the battle to stubble.  He reached for a pair of glasses on the nightstand and put them on to glare at Steve.

"Oh, no, I'm definitely coming.  You're not getting rid of me that easily, Rogers."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you...I'm just saying that if you don't want to come you don't have to. This is up to you Tony."

Tony picked up a piece of bacon and examined it, then took a bite.

"You guys might need me.  I can shoot lasers out of my hands.  That's come in handy at least once," said Tony, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.  "You already know I don't read anything longer than two pages, though. So can you just give me the quick version of whatever the all the intelligence reports said?  Where are we going? How many people am I going to have to hand-laser, potentially?"

Steve liked Tony with his glasses on, even if they did perhaps make him look a little older.  Maybe he liked that too. "We're going to a research base. Forty-five scientists. Twenty-five armed personnel.  Maybe mutants, too.  Whether they're captive or hostiles, I don't know.  But I have a plan; don't worry," he said, honestly quite excited by it. "It's just a basic recon mission so we're going to be using stealth.  But we'll get into that later. It's high security, which means the personnel probably don't know what's going on the actual labs.  So ideally we'd like to capture one of the scientists, which I doubt will be very hard."

"Hey, don't knock scientists," said Tony.  "I'm a scientist. We can be pretty badass, you know."

He contemplated the team.  Three Alphas led by one omega.  Weird, weird, weird.

He had no idea what Sam did, other than he was some sort of pilot.  He knew Natasha was all about stealth. He'd seen her and Steve spar before, both of them lightning-fast, her body moving and twisting in impossible ways.

He wasn't sure where he would fit in, considering he'd pretty much invited himself along.  But it didn't matter. The nice thing about the suit was that it was multi-purpose.  It had a ton of features--  the augmented reality in the helmet's HUD would be useful for mapping out the inside of the base -- plus it was capable of brute-forcing its way through anything.  Doors, even walls, didn't really stop it. Nor did bullets, for that matter.

"Where's the base?  Here in America, or is it somewhere more sinister?  I'm picturing an active volcano island somewhere in the Pacific," said Tony.  He eyeballed Steve. Steve was wearing a sleek, formed-fitted shirt. It contoured to his body.  Might as well have been painted on. So _tha_ t was what the guy wore under his uniform.  It looked good, but then, everything did on Steve.  Most clothes clung tightly to him, particularly his arms; the average t-shirt didn't expect biceps like his, the result being that, at any given time, he looked like one good flex would tear whatever he was wearing.  (This had happened only a couple of times.)

Tony picked up the coffee and sipped, then, suddenly, in the dying dusk light, caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the window.  He had to do a double-take. Was that him? With the unruly hair and the glasses and the lines on his face? Putting aside that he was starting to resemble his father, he was suddenly aware he no longer looked young.  For some reason, he thought of himself and Steve as both being in their twenties. Late twenties, maybe even early thirties. But no. He was clearly middle-aged. And when he looked at Steve, he suddenly realized how youthful Steve looked.  Steve had that eager look of a young soldier and suddenly all Tony could think about was those baby-faced kids in that Humvee, asking him about whether it was true he had gotten the newest Bugatti Veyron a year before its release (yes), whether it was true he'd slept with all of Maxim's cover models in the last year (he'd only missed one), whether it was true that he and Astro Teller had had a wild night in Cincinnati and blown over two million dollars (kind of, though the lion's share of that money had been Tony's, not Astro's).

Three of them had died less than a meter from the vehicle and the fourth had been shot in the cave.  Made an example of.

All four of them had looked too young to even go to a bar.  And now Tony was staring at Steve, thinking about how eagerly this idiot had volunteered to go to war, how desperately he'd wanted to be cannon fodder, and how his own father, who was born in the same year as Steve, hadn't had to worry a bit about the draft.

Tony wasn't hungry anymore.

It was all very well for him and Natasha and Sam to go in.  He was already forty and didn't have a family. Natasha, a female Alpha bonded to a male omega, couldn't have kids.  Sam, like Tony, appeared middle-aged and without any ties. But Steve was still young, technically. He could still start a career or a family, go to college... there were a million things Steve hadn't yet done or experienced.... he'd never even heard Lynyrd Skynyrd (to Tony's knowledge) or gotten a blowjob, and here he was, looking giddy with excitement, like they were going skydiving or something instead of going into a fucking battlefield.

The guilt that had plagued Tony over the last two yeas was rearing its ugly head again, reminding him that, until recently, he was as guilty as his father and Stane were, unwittingly help this stupid, innocent, fresh-faced kids blow each other up.

"It's near Cuba, apparently. Off the coast on a tiny island, or something. It's in a forest, I know that... hey.  Are you okay?" Steve said, waiting with concern as a frown found its way into Tony's features.  Steve reached forward and brushed his fingers against Tony's forearm. "You look like you're kind of drifting away on me here," he murmured and brushed his fingers back over his arm. "You know I've done this a hundred times over before, right? We'll be home in twenty four hours time and having post-mission shenanigans..."

Tony shook his head a little.  "...they all think they're coming back.  No one goes off thinking they'll be one of the unlucky ones," he said quietly.  He waved at his half-eaten breakfast. Or dinner. Whatever. "I'm done. I'm just gonna sleep until it's time to go.  Wake me up then, okay?"

He flopped back down and rolled onto his side, curling up.  He knew Steve had done this a hundred times, but that didn't make him feel better, because he wasn't thinking about just Steve anymore, but all the other assholes who bravely signed up and felt good about themselves and then got blown up a few weeks later before they even had time to regret their decision.  Your average soldier didn't get to wear a suit of armor bristling with state-of-the-art weapons; your average soldier was fighting with Hammer Industry SIRs that jammed up when they were most needed. It made Tony sick and he found himself caught in a new cycle of self-loathing. Maybe this was Steve's wheelhouse, but it sure as hell wasn't his.  He'd volunteered for SHIELD because of Steve and for his own sense of reckless adventure, but for him, as an individual, the stakes were low. But that didn't mean he had to like what they were doing.

Even Steve's gentle touch wasn't enough for him to shake it.  Steve didn't get it; Steve had never killed anyone who didn't deserve it.  Steve had never killed anyone unwitting or on accident like Tony had. Steve's goals were noble and Tony's were selfish and Tony felt like a piece of shit. _"Well a-day, what evil looks had I from old and young; instead of the cross, the albatross around my neck was hung,"_ he recited quietly.  That, at least, was a reference Steve could get.


	8. Bond Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys prepare for their first mission together, and HYDRA explores the possibility of bond exploitation.

"вставай, солдат."

His eyes snapped open.  Four people were staring at him.  All men, all Alphas. He recognized Karpov and thought he'd probably met the other three, though he couldn't recall.

"Come," said Karpov.  "We have someone we'd like you to meet.  A new friend."

Friend?  What the hell did that mean?  Did that mean they needed him to kill someone?

He wasn't being asked to speak-- he was only to speak when asked and he'd already gotten everyone in enough trouble by asking questions out of turn-- so he got up silently to follow.

He had been anxious when he saw them dragged Karpov into the van.  Very anxious. Because he knew what "retirement" meant. Knew where people who was pulled into the back of those vans went.  But even since his confused, rambling story about a sick omega, Karpov seemed back in everyone's favor. And he hadn't been given a retraining session, which he thought was very suspicious.

They strolled down a hallway together.  It was white, the lights too-bright. No windows, giving the impression that where ever they were, it was subterranean.

Karpov was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and he was envious because he was only in an undershirt and his right arm was cold.  One of the men was in a nice suit, and the other two in military uniforms. Their strides were long, purposeful.

They came to a plain door with a grey square beside it.  One of the men waved an ID badge over the square and it beeped, and they all walked inside.

Inside was a laboratory.  Two men in labcoats looked up and the older one smiled, reaching out to shake everyone's hand.

"Baron, Colonel, a pleasure... Mr. Pierce, please take a seat... is this the asset?"

The man in the suit glared at the man in the lab coat, and he knew that the man in the lab coat had asked a stupid question.

The man in the lab coat gestured to a young girl sitting on a stool.  She looked bored. She was sitting slouched, using a foot to swivel the stool around; she had long brown hair but bright eyes that were amber, almost reddish.  She was a beta but she smelled all wrong. Like she'd been rolling around in a big pile of people, sort of. Like her smells were all mixed up with theirs.

Standing over her was a young man.  He was an omega so he ignored him.

"Wanda, this is the Winter Soldier."

"Hello," she said, sounding surly.

"No need for that.  He doesn't speak," said Karpov, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Why doesn't he speak?" asked the omega.

"He speaks when we need him to speak."

"What happened to his arm?" asked the omega.

"We improved it," Karpov replied dismissively.  "Soldier. Sit."

He sat.

She was examining him closely with her red eyes, and he didn't like it.  Didn't like her eyes or her smell. Didn't like anything about her. Judging by the smells of the other Alphas in the room, neither did they.  She was... off-putting.

Only the omega, who had hopped up onto the lab counter and was now sitting there swinging his legs, seemed not to mind her at all.  He was wearing track pants and a long-sleeved shirt and chewing gum. He also seemed surprisingly bored and relaxed. And he was young, too.  He didn't know who these people were or why everyone was putting up with their disrespectful, childish attitudes.

"So?  Can you use him?" asked the man in the suit, Mr. Pierce.

She sat up a little and moved her hands.  At first he thought she was playing with a piece of string; her fingers grew stiff and made motions like they were hooked and stretching.  But there was no string. It was an invisible game of Cat's Cradle. He stared, finding the motion hypnotic.

"I think so."  Her voice sounded quieter. More distant.  "His mind is very scattered."

"But it's still there?"

"Yes."

"Well, so much for your precious programming, Karpov."

The voices were fading and he was pretty sure he was slipping out of the chair he was seated in, but he couldn't move.  He was frozen; it was the falling sensation one experiences right before falling asleep; even knowing he would embarrass Karpov in front of these people wasn't enough for him to regain control.  The lab was fading. Fading fast.

_A memory._

_A man had come to get him; he had been chatting up a pretty young girl at the bar._

_"You got a horseshoe outside?"_

_Oh, God.  Not again._

_The sign on the door had said No Omegas and he'd felt guilty.  He hadn't known it when he suggested they go check it out, but rules were rules, and Steve had been left outside. The only omega in the club was a guy in the group that was singing, and he wasn't being allowed to actually drink anything.  He was just there for entertainment._

_Bucky sighed and excused himself from the bar to follow the man out to the curb.  Sure enough, when he stepped out, two men were holding an omega--_ his _omega.  Clearly, he'd been fighting again._

_"C'mon, Stevie, let's go," he sighed, scruffing him and dragging him down the block.  Steve was always getting into fights. Fighting for girls, for other omegas, for... well, hell, anything.  Every noble cause was one he'd fight for. He'd never won in his life but that didn't stop him._

_They'd go home and get a slab of meat from the ice box and put it over his eye, but it would bruise up anyway, and Steve would wear it like a badge of honor, because he didn't fight to win, but to prove a point.  The number of times he'd had to swoop in and peel him off the pavement while he was getting pounded was more than either of them would like to admit. Even now, Steve had a triumphant look on his face, and he knew that if he asked him about it, Steve would just say he could've kept fighting.  Could've done it all day. And the scary part was, he believed it._

_A memory._

_No money for medicine.  They were sitting on the cracked tile floor of the bathroom, and he was rubbing Steve's back while Steve wheezed his way through another asthma attack.  He'd turned on the shower, because steam helped him breathe. Neither of them were talking. Steve was too focused on gasping for air, and he... all he could do was worry.  Sarah had died of the consumption last year and he was petrified Steve was going to get it, too. Steve caught everything and he knew their apartment block was teeming with diseases but it was the best they could do.  Every rattling breath, every cough, had Bucky convinced it was consumption. He remembered watching Steve at the funeral, eyes red from crying, and it chilled him to the bone to imagine another pine box being lowered next to hers.  How the hell the woman had managed to work twelve hours a day in the hospital and still come home and take care of Steve was anyone's guess, because when Steve got sick, he got really, really sick. And yet Steve was still a dreamer.  He wanted to go to college for arts, wanted to be in the army, wanted to change the world. As if he weren't an omega, as if he weren't sick. Bucky never had the heart to tell him to shut up. He didn't know whether or not Steve believed it, but maybe he had to.  Maybe that was the only reason Steve hadn't yet succumbed to his poor health. Below Bucky's hand, he could feel the vertebrae of Steve's spine sticking out, and every weak breath rattled him._

_A memory._

_They were in the barracks, showing off pictures of their sweethearts.  Only two of the guys were married, but six of them, including Bucky, were bonded.  Bucky lied and said he didn't have a picture because he didn't want them to... what?  To make fun of him? To make fun of Steve? Steve was a lion trapped in the body of a sheep.  He was so small, so clearly sick._

_"He's blond," he told them.  "Real scrappy guy. Always gettin' into fights.  Keeps trying to sign up, can you believe it?"_

_They all laughed uproariously at the idea, and he joined in; they laughed at the concept of an omega wanting to fight a war (that was a man's job), and Bucky was thankful when no one pressed him any further for a picture._

_That night, he wrote Steve a long letter telling him all about boot camp, then re-read it and burned it,  knowing it would only make Steve jealous, knowing that Steve was twice the man half of these guys were, and if only he weren't an omega, if only he weren't so physically weak, he'd probably be a captain within a year._

_A memory._

_He'd brought home a girl, a real cutie.  Her name was Maggie. She had been wearing white gloves that matched the polka dots on her red dress, which matched her lipstick.  She was a wild one and she'd danced with him all night, had too much champagne, told him all about how her guy had been drafted and then packed up and left town like a coward, leaving her without even a note, and how mad she was.  She'd come home with him and he'd caught a glimpse of Steve, the hurt on his face, the glare of those accusing blue eyes._

_He hadn't ended up doing the deed.  He'd gotten lucky the week before with another girl, and all day, the sadness had rolled off of Steve in waves, hitting Bucky worse than yelling or anger would have.  He'd pretended not to notice. Steve had pretended not to care. There was lots of pretending._

_Steve was in pre-heat, but he never actually cycled.  Still, it was arousing. Bucky hated it, hated the temptation.  Hated how flirty Steve got. And when Bucky refused to kiss him, when he kicked Steve out of the bed to sleep on the couch, Steve redirected his energy toward his usual fighting.  How many times had one of the neighbors come to find Bucky, breathlessly alerting him to yet another fight? How many times had Bucky felt a sudden flare of panic, and had to drop what he was doing to go find Steve, to save him?  How many close calls had there been: Steve in the dirt, Steve pinned to a wall, an Alpha on top of him, and Steve, inexplicably,_ still fighting _, "I had him, Bucky!," "Like fun you did, Stevie, c'mon..."_

_A memory._

_He was strapped down and they were injecting him._

_"This one's at least gotten stronger, though, yes?"_

_He was moaning with pain, it was like fire, he was begging them to stop-- he felt numb and yet it was burning, it was burning terribly-- he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't feel Steve, and he was terrified that it meant Steve had died, because who was going to look after him, why the hell had he signed up, anyway, what was he thinking, his omega needed him and he was off tramping around Europe like a damned fool-- "Steve," he'd moaned, over and over, wanting to feel him, desperate to talk to him-- if only he survived, he thought, he'd never treat him lousy again, he'd make it all up to him-- but it was too late, he couldn't feel anything at all anymore, and he lay on the cold, damp stone floor while some British guy, Falsworth?, tried to get him to drink water, told him he was lucky he was alive, alive and fighting still, while his arm bloomed with purple bruises and red streaks and swelled up and got too sore to move..._

_A memory._

_They were throwing snowballs at each other.  Steve's scarf was bright red-- his mother had made it for him-- and his cheeks were rosy.  They could never stay out too long, but that was okay. Bucky let him get a few hits in on purpose.  They played until someone yelled at them to get out of the street, someone in a sleek new Model A, and when they went to stand on the stoop to watch it pass, a teenager passing by scoffed at the two of them._

_"Aren't you a bit old to be playing with a spade?" he sneered at Bucky, without even looking at Steve.  They were eleven years old. Both of them had been shocked and Bucky would never forget the look on Steve's face at the slur.  He waited until the teenager was walking away and then thrown a snowball at him, hitting the back of his head, and the two of them had run down a back alley and hidden in a set of basement stairs, and Bucky had turned to him and reassured him that he didn't care one bit that Steve was a horseshoe and didn't even really notice.  Steve had nodded solemnly, but things were different after that. They didn't have snowball fights in the street anymore, and when they walked down the street together, Steve made sure he was two paces behind Bucky and then he moved aside for Alphas, because they were no longer children and people didn't give horseshoes a free pass to be disrespectful once they'd grown up._

He woke up lying on the floor.  There was a shiny pair of dress shoes in front of him.

"Well?"

"It's hard."

"What do you mean, it's _hard_?"

"All the memories are old.  His mind isn't healthy. You scrambled it up."

"Well, then, _un-_ scramble it!"

"You think it's so easy, don't you?  You think I can just go in there and find a chapter of contents, look up the page I want?  Ha! You have no _idea_ how the mind works.  That is why you can't even control him, you think you can just rewrite a person's brain like it's a storybook."

"Keep trying."

"I can't.  I'm tired now."

Someone made a frustrated noise, and suddenly a boot was kicking him in the ribs with frustration.

He curled up a little, eyes wide, thinking about that bright red scarf, all those years ago.  He was shaking. Shaking like he'd been out all afternoon, playing in the snow with his best friend.

* * *

Sitting on the edge of their bed, Steve stared at the shape of Tony's back and suddenly, under the sheets, he looked so small. Guilt was rushing off of Tony in waves but Steve didn't entirely know why. He didn't feel like it was a good time to probe, and Tony didn't feel like he wanted to share. "I'll wake you up at three.  Sleep well, Tony." He leaned over to kiss his shoulder and then pulled away.

Steve liked to draw before a fight. He found it calmed him. He began drawing a picture of the city skyline from a picture he'd snapped on his phone a couple of days ago when Tony had taken him to some fancy, high up restaurant that span around. It was an informally all-Alphas place and Steve's presence there had obviously made a lot of people uncomfortable. Tony and him had found it a fun past time, making old Alphas uncomfortable.

He was about half way through, using cross-hatching to make the clouds pop out on the page, when his fingertips suddenly felt cold and his hands began to shake. His teeth threatened to chatter. He dropped the pencil onto the floor, probably breaking the lead inside. Steve didn't understand what was happening. He stared down at his hands with a frown...maybe it was phantom pain from the ice (he'd gotten in it in his toes and neck before). But this didn't feel _bad_. Yes, Steve was cold and shaky but he almost felt...happy about it? How confusing. It didn't make sense.

Steve had a hot shower and washed the feeling away.

3 am came around quicker than Steve could have anticipated. He was soon getting into his uniform, sliding it comfortably over his underclothes and leaving his shield by the door before he went to wake Tony up, his helmet strapped to his belt for now. Steve was tugging on fingerless gloves as he stepped into their bedroom and knelt down by Tony's side of the bed so he could speak softly but have Tony still hear. "Time to wake up," he whispered. "Pick up is in an hour Tony."

Tony's eye snapped open.  Steve was kneeling (mmmm) by the bed, his expression serious.

Even though it was the middle of the night, Tony had just slept for sixteen hours and he felt completely recharged.

He'd even had a good dream, which was weird.  Tony's dreams weren't always bad, per se, but they tended to be elaborate and fantastical, not _good_.  He'd had a dream he was a kid playing with another kid, having a snowball fight.  It had been pleasant... unusually wholesome. Kinda cute.

"Who's picking us up?" asked Tony, pulling off the covers and stretching himself out.  He ruffled Steve's hair before realizing Steve was already in uniform. He looked over it critically and felt a little better.  Kevlar, Nomex... Tony was familiar with these materials and he was glad Steve was wearing them. If he got shot at, he wouldn't die.  Knowing Steve, probably wouldn't even bruise much. For some reason, he'd pictured Steve in jeans and a plain white t-shirt... maybe because that's how Steve dressed, that's how he'd burst into the White House.  Tony had forgotten all about the Captain America get-up. It was reassuring to see him in something appropriate for fighting.

He went to the bathroom, a bit embarrassed about the hair-ruffle, and began aggressively brushing his teeth.  One hour? Tony could be ready way before that. He was in and out of the shower within five minutes; he put in his contacts and gave his beard a quick trim.  It occurred to him that he didn't need the contacts since he'd be in the helmet most of the night. Oh, well.

He was out of the bathroom in twenty minutes, toweling off his hair and loping toward the stairs to suit up.  Steve's shield was sitting by the door. Tony had tried to pick it up, once. It was a lot lighter than he'd expected.  Maybe the weight of a bowling ball.

"I'll meet you outside, okay?  You go wait outside, I'll be out soon.  The gantry for the four takes, like, ten minutes," said Tony breezily.  The Mark IV had been roughed up back in May, when he'd fought Rhodey in it, but he'd patched it up over the last few months.  In between patching up that, and the suit that had been dented up at the Expo, and the V, which Vanko had really fucked up in Monaco, Tony hadn't gotten too much work into the VII yet.  He had to admit, he was itching to get it done, but he doubted he'd get the actual flight test for at least a year. Once he figured it out, though, building non-gantry suits would be a snap.  Ha. A snap.  Snap on, snap off.  That was the plan.

He gave Steve a quick kiss and then jogged down the steps to the garage, closing the door behind him.

He slammed a few shots the moment he was in the shop.  He needed them to steady his hands, calm his nerves. He had 7UMM-E make him a cup of espresso to counter-act that effect, all the while aware that Steve would probably give him one of those disapproving looks if he knew Tony was drinking before a mission.  Granted, maybe Tony was the tiniest bit dependent, but hey, he never claimed to be perfect.

He heaved himself onto the platform.  "Okay, Jarv, let's suit up. I've gotta go to Cuba," he said.

"Cigar run, sir?" asked JARVIS.

Tony stood still, arms out, while the assemblage locked around him.  "Naw, something a little more exotic. Why, did you want me to bring you one back?" he asked as he felt the heavy boots clamping on, the metal making him feel heavy.  There was a brief an very uncomfortable moment when the torso was bolted on, before it clicked into the power source, where Tony was momentarily weighed down by the full weight of the suit around him.  Then there was a high-pitched whine from the arc reactor and the whole thing charged up.

"Thank you, sir, I'll pass.  You have enough vices for both of us."

"Don't tell me _you're_ judging my drinking habits, now, too," warned Tony.  Since Steve had moved in, JARVIS had picked up a new dimension of sass, which included the occasional old-timey curse.  The first time he'd casually exclaimed "Horsefeathers!" Tony had laughed until his sides ached. He thought about resetting JARVIS, but he sort of liked how Steve was influencing him.

There was a loud metallic click when the suit had been assembled and Tony stepped off the gantry, giving his fingers a few test-flexes, making sure everything was working right.  It was. He clamped across the concrete floor toward the stairs. He felt better about all this than he had earlier. It was one thing to talk about when they were both in jeans. Knowing Steve had his shield and that he had his armor, and that there was at least some sort of plan, well... that made it a lot different than Steve's situation had been in July.

He left the face plate off for now.  Augmented reality was nice but was impractical indoors.

He threw open the front door.

"Okay, Captain.  Do I have to start calling you Captain now?  ...this is weird. Oops." (He knocked over a couple of orchids as he stepped outside.)

Steve was just strapping his shield onto his back, a harmless and almost innocent action. But the shield itself was deadly. It was a killer as well as a protector. And that was something Steve was worried about- the version of him in history fitting with reality, that Tony might be...disappointed in some way.

"You're not really supposed to call me Steve, but I also don't really see the harm in it," he said with a small smile and a shrug. Captain felt a bit funny from Tony. Especially considering all the different times he'd had Steve squirming underneath him in bed. This was a new dynamic which Steve guessed was exciting as well as... weird.

"You look good," he told him and Tony did. "I think you might almost be taller like this," Steve said, half teasing as he walked up to him. Maybe, more like the same height but still, it was strange having Tony at eye level.

He felt better seeing Tony in a giant suit of armour. Steve was pretty sure he couldn't punch through this if he tried, it was really nothing like Vanko's. It looked impenetrable.

"You sure you're ready to see me like this?" Steve asked, voice soft and tone genuine as his gaze flickered up to Tony's face, studying it intently.

Tony smiled a little when Steve observed his height.  He had determined he was a solid five inches shorter than Steve, and the suit more than made up for that.

"Yeah.  I'm ready," he said breezily.  "I was born ready. What's the alternative?  You're gonna do what you're gonna do, you love being a soldier, and I can't just sit at home wringing my hands like a jackass while you go put your life on the line.  Besides, it's been a while since I got to be Iron Man. ...watch this."

In one easy motion, he scooped Steve up into his arms, shield and all.  Steve was easily over two hundred pounds, but Tony could lift cars; picking up super soldiers was a piece of cake.

He grinned at Steve.  Steve had, undoubtedly, not been picked up since before the serum.  For once, he looked oddly small in Tony's arms.

Steve laughed softly, and in pleasant surprise, as Tony scooped him up into his arms. He felt...small again, and it was nice. His heart lurched in his chest. This was the old kind of romance from movies, or something...something that Steve never really got to experience before. He wasn't ever going to be the dainty omega again who an Alpha would sweep in and rescue, and Steve was okay with that- but he was also more than okay with this.

The shield was bulky.

_A memory._

_Trudging down the street with a trash can lid to go sledding, their breaths coming out in puffs of steam, their cheeks red._

Tony blinked.  "...did you... did you used to go sledding on trash can lids?" he asked uncertainly.  Right when he thought he was going to get used to being bonded, it surprised him like this.  "Gross," he added. Trash can lids, fuckin' Edison, seriously?

Steve smiled, eyes narrowing a little, but in a playful manner. "Yeah. That's how we did it back then. Didn't have none of your fancy ass plastic sleds...how did you even know about- you know what, doesn't matter." He reached up, fingers brushing against Tony's cheek and then he leaned up and kissed him, legs and back curling into Tony's hold.

Steve pulled back half an inch, still smiling. "Love you," he whispered.

Tony grinned back.  "Love you back, even if you do gross things like play with garbage cans.  I mean, seriously, Steve that is so--"

He paused, cocking his head.  Outside, they could hear the constant white noise generated by the ocean, and the wind coming off the Pacific creating a constantly, ghostly whisper as the palm fronds rubbed against each other.  Tony's whole front yard ("yard" was an understatement) was groomed to perfection, in defiance of the California climate and drought; he had lush grass and tropical plants and bushes carved into shapes and all sorts of elegant flora.  It was something of a personal Eden, though Steve rarely saw Tony go out to enjoy it. Once or twice, Tony had wandered out to grab avocados off a tree. (Steve had never tried one; New York didn't have a hell of a lot of avocados in the thirties.)  But for the most part the garden was serene and untouched.

The peacefulness was being interrupted, however, by a low rumble.  Tony looked up and sure enough, there was a helicopter. Tony's house wasn't situated under any particular areas of sky traffic; in fact, bordered as it was by conserved wildlife areas, the only real traffic he ever saw was for him personally.  (To that end, he had a helicopter pad on the estate, and why not? He flew often enough.)

"Guessing that's for us," said Tony.  He set Steve down gingerly. "The pad's over there.  You meet them. I'll fly," he added, clicking on his faceplate.

* * *

He was sitting on his cot, waiting, when Karpov walked in.

He held out a cigarette.  The soldier took it gratefully and let Karpov light it for him.  Karpov lit one of his own before sitting down next to him. They were 727s, a North Korean brand, and their taste was sharp and bitter.  He had a memory of a carton of Lucky Strikes, rolled up into his sleeve. He always leaned out the window to smoke, no matter how cold it was, because the smoke made Steve cough.

"It seems I'm back in favor," said Karpov after a moment.  "I won't be retiring anytime soon. Lucky me. Of all the little rabbits in the world, you were bonded to the one we are most desperate to have.  And you never mentioned it. ...we knew what he was, you know. Zola had told us. But I never quite believed it. The way he looks..."

The soldier nodded, not entirely following.  He didn't want to speak out of turn and he always wanted to be agreeable.  Smoking was one of the very few luxuries afforded to him. Being spoken to like a person was another.  Karpov was clearly in a good mood.

"You know what _retirement_ means, yes?" asked Karpov suddenly.

"Yes, sir."

"I would prefer not to retire anytime soon.  It is important that you cooperate."

"Yes, sir."

"The Maximoffs are children.  They do not understand, like I do, just how grand our mission is.  The world is a terrible place, soldier. People, they think they want freedom, but look at how badly they've shaped their own lives.  This, you know. This, omegas know. When you give up control, how much happier you are. There is no struggle to make decisions, and no guilt, and no regret.  The world is better in the hands of those who know how to care for it. Just as I care for you, HYDRA will someday care for the world. Direct it, discipline it.  And then we will enter a golden age of true freedom. Freedom to grow, expand... progress, _real_ progress, will occur then.  And I will be revered as the man who made it happen."

He shut his eyes, basking in the glow of imagined glory.

The soldier was silent but attentive.  He'd heard similar speeches before. Karpov was a very idealistic man.  The lowest he'd ever seen him was after the second Winter Soldier program failed.  He had gotten Karpov out alive and they'd managed to tranq and store the feral recruits, but Karpov had moped for a long time.  The soldier had sympathized but also been glad he wasn't being replaced.

"Her motivation is only revenge.  Simple revenge on the man who killed her parents.  The man who took your omega. But revenge, that can be a powerful motivator.  Myself, I'm a much more educated individual. I want to change the world. I don't seek revenge.  I seek only progress. That is why I'm in charge of you. My cause is pure, and noble. I don't act selfishly.  And when I give you orders, they are selfless orders. They benefit not us, but the whole world. You see?"

"Yes, sir."

Karpov rose and patted him.  "Always such an attentive student.  You cooperation is appreciated, soldier, and you'll be rewarded for it."  He seemed upset.

Rewarded?  What did that mean?  Another cigarette, maybe?

"Sir.  If you retire, who do I take orders from?" he asked.  He'd always assumed he'd be retired before Karpov, but the way Karpov was talking now, he wasn't so sure.

"No one," said Karpov, pointing to him with the cigarette.  "I programmed you. You belong to me. There is no Winter Soldier without me.  If I ever retire, you listen to no one."

Panic seized him.  If he wasn't given orders, what the hell would he do then?

But he didn't express his fear.  Instead, he said, "yes, sir."

Karpov gave him another cigarette for giving the right response.  The rewards were already raining down.


	9. Cigar Run, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This mission was never given a proper name, so we have opted to called it "Mission: Cigar Run" after JARVIS's comments in the previous chapter. Enjoy.

From the front steps of his house, Tony jutted the heels of his hands out, hit the jets, and shot upward, leaving Steve below.

The house looked stark white compared to the surrounding landscape.  It was night but the house stood out, its warm glow creating a mellow mood.  "JARVIS, hook me up to the radio on that chopper so I can say hi," demanding Tony, wobbling in the air.  People underappreciated the effort it took to remain steady. Lots of tiny adjustments. Made you real sympathetic toward hummingbirds.

With the faceplate on, the world had opened up to him like an over-ripe fruit, dripping information everywhere.  His field of vision wasn't just the scene below him, but a dozen more things. Tags on the plants identified them; a small red circle on the ground was Steve, his name and a slew of information; floating text told him the time, the temperature, which direction he was facing, the air pressure, air currents, humidity, outside visibility; a bit of text popped up in the corner to tell him he had three new voicemail messages, but once he'd read it, it vanished, replaced by a small floating red circle with an X through it.  The amount of symbols and text floating around shifted with his eyes, never blocking his vision, always just on the periphery.

The helicopter was a Sikosky UH-60, modified for stealth.  Tony was already picking up all of its frequencies; there were three different open radio lines; the pilot was none other than Romanov.  Tony let himself be impressed; he didn't know she knew how to pilot aircraft. She was already number 3 on his To-Screw list.

She set the bird down gently; Tony watched from above, waiting for Steve to board before he started talking through their radio system.  He felt like maybe they'd be less upset about his accessing the closed line if Steve were there.

"Hey man! Looking good," Sam clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder as he stepped inside, the jet door hissing quietly as it slipped shut behind him. "I like the uniform. Not _too_ patriotic." Sam was dressed in his own tactical gear, his wings enclosed against his back and ready to spread out at a moment's notice. Natasha was in all black with an insane amount of weaponry hidden away on her person, shocks wrapped around her wrists.

"You should have seen what Phil wanted me to wear," Steve murmured with a roll of his eyes. His uniform was more of a navy, far darker. The red was darker too and the white star in the middle of his chest wasn't too obtuse. He looked more like a soldier and less like Cap from the comic books.

"I see we have a tag along," Natasha commented as she took them back up into the air, tone neutral. Tony was being picked up on the scanners, of course. Steve could see his shape flitting around on one of the scanners above them. "I trust you know what you're doing Steve," she shot him a look over her shoulder. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. "Some extras on the bench, if you want 'em."

Steve saw a bag open, a collection of knives inside. It was always good to have a back up if the shield got out of his reach.

"Oh. Nick told me to give you something. Under the bench. Apparently it's a 'thank you'. Well, he didn't say that. Nick never says thank you but, you know, you get the idea..."

Steve bent down to see a box. He frowned curiously and drew it out from underneath then laughed. "Oh my gosh." He couldn't help but smile as he lifted up the box of cheerios before he set it down on the bench. Sam pulled a face and cocked his head.

"He got me Cheerios," Steve said, offering absolutely no context. They were the honey flavor, too; the box that had been murdered at Steve's old apartment had been plain.

"I... I don't get it," said Sam as Steve tore open the box to begin snacking.

"Tag along?  Did you just call me a tag along?" demanded Tony's voice from the radio.  "I got approved for action weeks ago, I have every right to be here, I'm just as legit as you are, Dark Angel.  How dare you question Steve's leadership. ...what did Fury get us? If it's another fucking orchid I'm going to lose it."

He flitted out of the way as the chopper rose and pointed south.  He rolled under it and flipped on to his back. The digital readout had changed, throwing up the cruising altitude and a line showing the horizon, giving the thing the feel of a flight simulator; a map popped up of the immediate area in the left corner, with a speed gauge below it.  When he flipped around, there was a brief red blinking as if the program was panicking; then it righted itself and the autopilot took over.

"So is anyone gonna tell me the plan?  I didn't read the briefs," added Tony lazily.

"...that's because you weren't technically assigned to this mission," groused Natasha into her headset.

"No, it's because they were boring.  I had access. I just have a policy against, y'know, being bored.  Someone give me the 411. ...Steve, 411 is a number you call for information."

Sam smirked a little at Steve.  The casualness with which Tony periodically explained things was charming in its own way, an indication of a relationship that was operating smoothly.

Natasha didn't look amused.  Instead, she looked away from the instrument panel long enough to look at Steve, mouth the word " _Bucky?"_ and raise an eyebrow.

Steve gave a small shake of his head.  They were not talking about this right now.  Steve could not afford to get distracted by his personal problems while they were on a mission.

He quickly changed the subject to business.

"The base we're infiltrating is an old school-" Steve sent Sam a look when he looked like he wasn't going to laugh at the use 'old-school'. "-style laboratory. It doesn't run on the grid or with any sort of automated system, so we'll have to dismantle the security systems manually.  But the good thing about that is that it'll be easier for us.  There's three different power sources, generators, in the forest that surrounds the base; if we cut the power sources, we'll be able to cause a blackout.  Super easy."

Sam smiled wryly. "That's why you told me to bring night vision goggles, huh?"

Natasha broke the quiet. "So cause a black out, then what?"

"There will be odd security team in the forest that we can pick out, but the bulk of hostiles will be in the building itself on the higher floors. Lower down will be where the actual lab is. It'll be hard to get into it. I'm hoping Tony can help us with that one."

"I love dismantling security systems," said Tony gleefully.  It was true. To Tony, fences made bad neighbors. He spent a lot of time hacking just for fun.  A way to fine-tune his skills and also to get access to information. The more forbidden the information, the more exciting it was.

For a brief period, Pepper had put earnings reports into hidden folders on private servers, knowing Tony would find his way in and read them eagerly.  He had to admit, that was a good strategy to get him to read them. But it only worked for two quarters before he learned not to take the bait.

"We want as much information as possible from the lab itself but we have to prioritize anything on the Winter Soldier and anything on their enhancement work."

"Enhancement work?"

"Mutants, supersoldier serums, body mods.  We need to know how far they're getting-"

"Is that why we're looking for intel on the Winter Solder?" asked Sam.

Steve opted to ignore his question.  "Sam and Tony go in through the roof. We go in through the back; they have a passage for _cargo_." Cargo sometimes meant actual cargo, but other times meant live experiments; the heat signatures from the satellites made it clear that the base imported people as well as equipment.  "Then we do what we do."

"How come I gotta go with Sam?" demanded Tony.

"Because you and I have flight capability," said Sam.

"What are you talking about?"

Sam looked at Steve.  "He doesn't know?"

"Know what?  ...what?" demanded Tony.

"I told you, Stark, I'm a pilot."

"Right, but you're not gonna fly a helicopter into the--"

"No, for the EXO-7 Falcon."

"What the hell's that?" asked Tony, trying to recall.  He'd never heard of it. "Like, what, a predecessor of the AIM-4?"

"No, it's an exo suit."

" _I knew it!  I knew they were stealing my--"_

Natasha sighed and mumbled something in Russian.

"The Falcon project was _off the ground_ long before you started traipsing around as Iron Man," said Sam defensively.

"I admire your use of puns but strongly dislike your blatant copying of my suit design.  Flying robot suits are my _thing_.  You'll have to do something else."

"What?  No! I've been a paratrooper since the nineties!   _You_ do something else!"

"Am I the only one who doesn't need a gimmick?" asked Natasha.

"You have a gimmick, you're a scary Russian.  You gimmick is Natasha Fatale."

"What?"

"The chick from _Rocky and Bullwinkle_!  I thought that was who you were named after.  ...is Natasha your real name?"

"Наталья, actually."

"Aw, that's nice."

The helicopter banked southeast; Tony followed it from below.  Tony had already done the calculations. At this rate, even if they went straight across the Gulf toward the island, they would get there at dawn, giving them very little time to use the cover of darkness to their advantage.

"Seriously, how many exo suits do we need?" griped Tony.

"He's going to complain the whole way, isn't he?" asked Natasha.

"How come Fury didn't get _me_ cereal?" whined Tony.

Natasha reached over and flicked off the radio completely, then removed her headset.  "I don't doubt he's good at tech. I don't doubt he's going to be irreplaceably helpful when we need to get access to the lower levels.  But is he going to be okay? Because the serum research... that has a lot of _you_.  And the Winter Soldier program... well.  Someone has to say it. Might as well be me.  I think he's too close to this."

Sam crossed his arms.  "The guy's a pain in the ass, but let's take a step back.  You run missions with Barton. I was partnered to my wingman.  I don't think it's an issue. We've all been personally involved in missions and we've all been fine.  SHIELD approved him for combat so he's ready for combat. As long as we can turn of the comms so that we don't have to listen to him, I think he's a valuable asset, well worth having around.  And I think we're all gonna benefit from seeing how he does in the field."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that Sam was sticking up for him.  She raised her hands. "Okay. Fine." She lapsed into silence, perhaps not convinced.  But it was too late for her to say anymore, because they were already on their way, and making great time, and Tony had already invited himself along.

"I think he's too close, but then so am I. And I'm here," Steve pointed out quietly and Natasha's gaze flickered up to meet his. He swallowed. "I just... I think it's worse to keep it hidden from him. The last thing I want is Tony in the dark about this. I don't have anything to hide, _I_ didn't want this, but keeping it from him will make it seem like I do. Or...I don't mind it. I don't know. It's hard to explain. I just-"

"Вы не хотите его потерять его из-за этого," Natasha summarized. Steve nodded. Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't know Russian either.

"How the hell did you learn a new language in less than six months Rogers?" he asked, teasing good-naturedly. "Did the serum make you smarter?"

Steve shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of."

They landed a solid two miles away from the base, in a clearing in the woods.  It was still dark out; there was only the faintest hint of grey-blue on the eastern horizon to indicate dawn was approaching.

They stepped out of the copter to see the light of Tony's suit glinting up above them. Steve's gaze followed it around for a second. Natasha pulled out a tablet. "Right. Our three contact points, wires to jennies, are here, here and here-" She pointed to two closer dots, then one much further away.

Tony hovered over the chopper for a while as it landed in a clearing.  He saw Steve look up at him and he paused for a moment before dropping down.  He let gravity take him, then hit the jets at the last moment, landing with surprising delicacy behind Natasha.  He snapped off his face plate; Steve was pointing to a map on the tablet she was holding.

"Right.  You and I will take the closer two. Sam and Tony can go get the further, one then come back around for the assault. We have to time this perfectly okay? You two don't strike until me and Natasha are inside that building. It's crucial."

Tony peered over Natasha's shoulder, ignoring the way she bristled at him.

"It's not nice to turn me off," he said, well aware she'd cut communication to and from the jet on the ride over.  "...I'd much rather be... turned on." He grinned and winked.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.  "Do you understand what he just said?"

"Yeah, yeah.  Me and Sam are gonna go cut a wire or something and then rendezvous on the roof, and on Cap's signal, we go in.  Right?" He eyed Sam. Sam was wearing normal-looking military-issued combat clothes. He had a backpack, though that was clearly a piece of classified tech.  Tony studied it, curious how it worked, what powered it. What the hell was it, anyway? A jetpack or something? The flight googles on Sam's head indicated that, however it operated, it went fast.

"Ready when you are," said Tony, putting his face plate back on.

"Let's go," said Sam, and a moment later, he'd unfolded a massive pair of metal wings and launched into the air.  Tony was dumbfounded; it took him a moment to follow.

"Hey!  ...you have _wings_?"

"Yep," yelled Sam over the whistle of the wind.

"...you've been letting me call Natasha Dark Angel when you were the Dark Angel all this time?"

"They code-named us Falcons," yelled Sam.  "Rescue paratroops. Me and Riley've been doing this for about fifteen years."

"Goddamn.  I mean, the design's impractical, but I gotta hand it to them for flair."

"You wanna talk impractical?  Your suit's bright red."

Sam dove; Tony followed.

"Red's my favorite color," he replied, as if this were a perfect explanation.

Sam tucked his arms in, slipping through the dense foliage of the forest; Tony followed.  They landed with a soft crunch of leaves. There was a discreet electrical box sitting in a chain cage.

Tony clicked off his face plate and looked at Sam.  "Looks easy."

"Careful.  Could be electrified," warned Sam.

"Naw, it's fine, look."  Tony walked over and grabbed the chain cage to pull it apart before Sam could stop him, then immediately dropped to the ground, convulsing.

"Oh my God!" cried Sam.

Tony stopped moving, then looked up with a grin.  "Gotcha."

Sam swiped a pine cone off the ground and threw it at him.  "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he demanded as Tony's suit climbed it its feet.  The pine cone bounced off the armor uselessly.

 _"_ It's not electrified, I can see infrared on this thing," replied Tony, tapping the helmet with a couple of metal fingers.  He tore open the chain cage like it was tissue paper and ripped a panel off the box, pulling out a tangle of wires. "All we gotta do is cut the red one.  It's always the red one. ...too bad I'm color-blind, huh?" he said, pulling out a few green wires and preparing to snap them.

" _Tony, stop!_ "

"...are you seriously this gullible?  ...I'm not color-blind, chill out. God, you're too serious."  Tony snapped a handful of wires. "It's _never_ the red one, Wilson, that would be too easy.  It's fine, I got it. Done and done. C'mon, let's hoof it."  He snapped on the face plate and shot up through the trees.

Sam stared after him, heart pounding.  He regretted standing up for Tony earlier.  A couple of minutes into the mission and Tony had already pulled two incredibly tasteless pranks.

* * *

 Steve and Natasha arranged a point to meet at once they were done. She patted his arm and then they were off.

The forest was strangely quiet...it was dark, the early morning light barely dusting the sky that poked through the tree leaves. The ground beneath him was wet and heavy and Steve felt slow just jogging across it. He went quickly, hands twitching by his sides as he weaved through the trees. It was almost easy to pretend that Bucky and HYDRA weren't a problem like this, that he hadn't had a miscarriage. It was just him and the trees, and it was eerily quiet.

It felt good to just _run_.

Steve passed a guard on his way, pulling up his night goggles so he could see him. He had a gun; the safety was off. Steve decided to just sneak past him; if he knocked him out now then people would notice before he and Natasha could get inside. He could tell he was a beta so Steve didn't have to worry about him sensing him.

He used the edge of his shield to hack through into the cage surrounding the first generator and checked with Natasha over comms before he cut the right wire. Then Steve headed back to meet her. She dropped down from a tree and nearly gave him a heart attack, pulling her goggles up without even messing up her hair.

"So, how we getting inside?"

"We take as few people out as we can. Keep it subtle. Once we get inside and somewhere away from the main loading dock, then Sam and Tony drop down."

"Steve. Wait-" Natasha put a hand on his arm and stopped him. "Are you..."

"What?"

"...are you sure you're ready for this?"

Steve sighed. He knew Natasha wasn't being patronising. She just cared.

"So ready, Nat. You have no idea. I _need_ this."

* * *

 "Pew... pew.. pew..." whispered Tony under his breath.  They were crouched on the roof together; Tony was eyeballing a pair of patrolling guards below them, pretending to shoot them with his fingers.

Sam was trying not to feel irritated.

He checked his watch.  "We should see them soon.  They're going to go in first and clear it for us."

"Look," said Tony suddenly.

A third guard had joined the two and was gesturing widely.  He was holding a flashlight. Tony smiled a little. He was guessing there were generators for the lower floors but at least on the surface, everything was offline.

Sam placed a hand over one ear; he had a headset, Tony didn't.  "Cap, Widow, looks like the power's down. You're cleared. I've got a line of sight on the back door and right now the guards are distracted, you got about five minutes if you want to take it.  There's a keycard on lockdown you can scramble and a double dead-bolt that's going to need forced."

Tony peered over the edge of the roof, watching yet another guard walk out, gesturing.  He and the other one peeled off and loped into the woods, presumably to check the cables.  Once they saw the demolished electrical boxes, the gig was up. But as of right now, no one's body language indicated any real concern.

Tony hated waiting.  "How much longer? I was promised I'd get to hack into stuff."

"About half this job is timing," said Sam, crouched motionless across the roof.  "You gotta be patient."

"Ugh..."  Tony preferred to go in, guns blazing. His suit was a lot of things.  "Quiet" wasn't one of them. He scanned the forest line anxiously, but couldn't see much; he popped on the face plate and switched over to infrared.  Two heat signatures were stalking toward the back door. Steve's was crazy bright, a result of his overactive metabolism. Tony watched them move, slowly, stealthily, heart pounding.  He couldn't see anything at all inside the building; the concrete walls of the bunker were too thick. It was half-warehouse, half-bomb shelter, and it was no conducive to easy spying.

Steve, despite being big, or rather muscly, was especially light-footed. Of course, Natasha was far quieter than him, but then, that was her specialty. Steve's specialty, they joked, usually consisted of pissing people off; after all, he was provocative by nature. His military career had begun when he'd went on a rogue mission, to rescue troops who had been captured in Azzano in 1943, and since then, Steve had regularly defied orders when he felt it was right.

He and Nat timed their entrance perfectly; all their training together had paid off, and they moved in sync. Natasha knocked a few guards out with tranq darts on the way in and Steve simply snuck up behind them, squeezing at their neck until their stilled and their throat stopped lurching against his forearm. Steve knew there was always a chance of killing them with such a technique, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

The goggles gave them the edge once they were inside. All Steve and Natasha had to do was avoid the occasional flashlight to avoid being spotted. It almost too easy. But Steve knew they didn't have long; some of the guards were almost certainly Alphas and if he lingered too long they would smell him. "Moving into position by the staircase," Steve told Sam softly through the comms. He shared a look with Natasha and a short nod. "Ready when you are Wilson."

On the roof, Tony was eyeing Sam curiously.  Specifically, his neck.

" _What_?" demanded Sam after a moment.

"Nothing," said Tony, looking away.

"...you a homophobe?"

"No."  Tony considered.  "Not on purpose, anyway.  Two male Alphas creeps me out, yeah.  But that's my problem. Not yours."

Sam's eyebrows raised.  It was a surprisingly personal, introspective revelation, one Sam would have thought Tony incapable of making.

Before he could reply, his comm cracked, and a hand flew up to his ear.

"Roger, Rogers," he said.  "You ready?" he said to Tony.

"Yeah, let me put some music on," said Tony, snapping on his face plate.

"Are you serious?  No music! ...can you turn down the brightness on that thing?"  The arc reactor alone was practically a flashlight, but the eyes and the RT nodes in the palms weren't exactly subtle, either.

"Not on the arc reactor, sorry," said Tony, not sounding very sorry.  "It's fine, c'mon." He clanked across the roof toward a ventilation shaft.  Sam winced, following him.

"Maybe step a little lighter?"

"What, you want me to tip-toe?  I'm wearing two hundred pounds of metal, it's not gonna be quiet."

Tony pried the top of the shaft open; the metal groaned and shrieked.  He tossed the grate cover side and it clanged on the roof. Sam sighed, pulling on his night vision goggles.

"Ladies first," said Tony, gesturing.

"Jackass," replied Sam, slipping down into the shaft.  Tony followed, and they made their way into the heart of the base.  The walls were concrete, and Tony couldn't see heat signatures through them, but he wasn't too worried.  There simply might be nothing to see yet. The base was mostly scientists after all, and they were deeper in the compound, underground... still unaware that they were under attack.


	10. Cigar Run, part II

Two men and one woman were sitting around the lab, brainstorming.

"I don't see what we're supposed to do once they bring him to us.  We already have the isolated compound from the '86 mission. What more do they want?" asked the older of the two men, leg jiggling, tapping his pencil on his knee.

"Obviously, there's something special about the captain," said the younger man, elbow propped up on the lab bench and legs dangling idly from a stool. 

The woman scoffed.  "I doubt it. I think they just make excuses for the failure up in Siberia."  She was younger; her earrings were dangly little lobsters that the men found silly.

All three were Alphas.

"There's nothing so special about the captain," she continued.  "Karpov's boy works fine. Frankly, I think they ought to try again.  It would be better to try again than to try to capture the captain. Like Dennis said, what do they expect us to do once they give him to us?"

"We could breed him," suggested the younger man.

"So you're assuming that the serum causes changes on a genetic level?  That it could even be passed on to his offspring? We don't know that," said the first.  "That damned Liebmann took nearly four pints from the asset, so it's not like we'll be able to test him again anytime soon."

"And even if we did breed him, the effect would probably be diluted," added the woman.

"Not if we bred him to the asset.  He's modified," said the younger man.  "All you'd have to do would be to induce heat and then, bam!" he slapped the lab's plain black counter.  "Not even Karpov's precious program would stop him."

"And then what, we wait fifteen, twenty years?  Taking care of some fucking baby?" asked the woman.

"Well, no one said that our plan would be _fast_ \--"

"Actually, it might be better to raise it with our values instead of trying to program it.  You saw how quickly the Maximoff girl got into the asset's head. Karpov said he'd wiped him completely, but--"

"Oh, forget Karpov and his little pet."

The door beeped and a third man walked in.

All the papers on the desk blew off, and suddenly, a young man who had not been there before was standing there with them, chewing gum idly.

The scientists frowned.

"Pietro.  Can we help you?" asked the woman.

He shrugged, looking bored.  They'd been having a hell of the time containing the twins.  Pietro kept darting through doors after people, and Wanda had been using the personnel as puppets.  Two electricians had already quit.

"Out," commanded the older man.

Pietro seemed to consider whether or not he wanted to obey, but then, with a streak of silver, he was gone and the door was closing.

The papers all over the floor fluttered again as he left and the scientists all sighed.

"Well, there go our notes.  I suppose it can't get much worse," said the woman, rising.

The lights flickered off, plunging them into darkness.

Someone swore.

"Damn it all!  ...I bet this is those electricians' fault," groused the woman.

The man who had entered pulled out his phone to use as a light; everyone else followed suit.

"Should we call someone?" asked the older man.

"No, by the time we got upstairs, they'll probably already have it on.  It's fine. Besides, if we open the door again, that damned zero will run back in here and cause another mess," said the woman, trying to scoop up the papers all over the floor by the light of her cell phone.  The rest of them bent down to help her, ignoring the knocking on the other side of the door.

* * *

"Tony. I need you to get us access," Steve murmured into comms, pressed up against a wall as guards patrolled down the corridor. Natasha had run out of darts at this point, so it was time to fight if they got spotted.  (Admittedly, Steve couldn't wait.)  The guards' flashlights were darting over every white, sleek wall as they walked by. One dragged by less than an inch from Natasha's face; Steve heard her breath hitch.

"Hey. Do you..." the guard stopped a little way past him, putting an arm on his colleague to make him stop too. Both Alphas, Steve noted. "Do you smell something?"

"Smell something like what? I've been stuck with your sorry ass for eight hours--"

"No. No, it's something...sweet."

"Maybe one of the generals brought a little something back to base. Wouldn't be the first time." He huffed. "Pretty sick of having to get rid of them after, you know? Fuck man. All that digging, kills my arms..."

"No. Dude. It's--"

A shield smacked into his face, breaking his jaw and more than a few teeth. The man yowled in pain and stumbled back. His colleague reacted immediately, pulling out his gun, but hands soon slipped around him from the back. One sharp press into his spine and he was on the floor with a whimper.

"Tony? What's your status? Progress on getting us down these stairs?" demanded Steve impatiently.

"We have less than twenty minutes before they realise something is up," Natasha added quietly.  "...if we're lucky."

"Access.  Right," repeated Tony.  He lacked a comm but it didn't matter; anything wireless was something he could jerry rig and pick up in the helmet.

He turned to Sam.  They were inside and both of them were using infrared goggles.  Sam winced and held a hand up. "Oh my God, man, that arc reactor is like a million degrees."

"Yeah, sorry," said Tony, glancing down at the bright-white circle on his chest.  He looked back up. Sam was a wavy human blob of yellows and oranges. "You heard Steve, they need to get into some locked stairwell.  Find me a key card or a breaker box and I pull the whole system offline."

"Okay, c'mon," said Sam.

The two of them began walking down the dark corridor, Tony's footsteps loud, Sam's quiet.

Twice, they doubled back to avoid guards.

"Tony!  Here!" Sam gestured.  Tony pushed back his faceplate and examined the discreet grey box on the wall.  "...is that what you want?" asked Sam.

"Yeah.  Bingo," said Tony quietly, ripping the box off the wall in a tangle of wires.  "...basic RFID. This is sad. Their security system is about as good as a Holiday Inn."  He plunged his hands into the wall, playing with the electronics.

"How long's it gonna take?"

"Not long."  Tony was pulling a small circuit board out of the box.  It was covered in chips; Sam pulled up his goggles to look, curious.  "Lemme think... wow, shit, they should fire their contractors... look at this, it's like the Amish built it, this design is terrible..."  With incredible delicacy, considering the weight and size of his gauntlets, Tony teased a pair of chips from the board, then began scratching at a small copper line on its surface.

Sam lowered his goggles again; two guards were strolling toward them.  "Tony," he hissed.

"I'm nearly done."

"Tony, company, be quiet."

The two turned the corner.  One was a beta, the other an Alpha.

"...not been sleeping great lately, I don't know, I just can't handle rotating shifts."

"So ask for a transfer."

"I want to wait until after my performance review."

"You'd better hurry.  Everyone's asking for transfers.  The twins have been creeping out everyone with a clearance higher than four."

One of the guards stopped; the other nearly plowed into him.

"--you smell that?"

"You _know_ I can't."

Tony and Sam pressed against the wall.  Sam reached over and waved a hand in front of Tony's face to get his attention, pointed to the guards, and then held up three fingers.  Then two. Then one.

The first one shone a flashlight toward them at the same time they each grabbed a guard. Sam went straight for the radio to prevent his guard from calling for help, and the two fell to the ground in a furious struggle.

Tony simply grabbed his and cracked his head into the wall.  The man moaned. Tony cracked his head against the wall a second time, and he was silent.

Sam was slowly choking his out.  "I got him," he whispered loudly.  "Go finish getting us in."

Tony kicked the limp body aside and went back to the circuit board hanging out of the wall.

Steve's voice was asking for a progress report.

"Hold your horses!  I'm working on it," said Tony.  "...in about fifteen seconds, you're gonna hear a loud click and the doors are all going to come unlocked, okay?  You guys go on without us, we're about four or five minutes from the central stairwell."

All at once, there was a flash of red light-- an alarm system, tripped and then instantly shut off-- and then it was dark again and there was a loud, electronic click as the door in front of them unlocked.

"Yay!" said Tony quietly, to himself.

He turned around; Sam was nudging one of the guards.  "I think you killed him."

"The suit's kind of... not designed for non-lethal combat," said Tony.  He shrugged, a weird, bulky gesture within the arm. He wasn't going to cry over that.  He didn't know how many people he'd killed in his life and didn't want to. "Come on, let's find the others."

He stepped over the body and began striding quickly down the hall at a not-quite jog.  Sam went over the bodies, just in case one might have anything useful, but neither had anything Sam didn't already have himself, so he shoved them to the side and raced after Tony.

The doors clicked open with a soft hiss. Steve and Natasha didn't hesitate. She pulled out a small gun, aimed at the ceiling, and shot out a rope.

"Hey, how come SHIELD didn't give me a grappling hook?" asked Steve softly.

"We only need one grapple," replied Natasha, giving the rope a few experimental tugs; its thinness belied its strength.  "Do you mind?" Natasha asked with a sly smile over her shoulder. She really came into her own on a mission; she looked...strangely happy. It was like the way Clint made her smile.

"Not at all," Steve hummed. He curled his arm around Natasha's waist; she gripped his arm tightly. Steve stepped them up onto the stairwell's banister and then jumped, the rope's decent slow enough that Steve landed without any pain to his knees. Natasha pryed away from him then clicked a small button on the handle, calling the rope back.

There was two sets of double doors in front of them. "You take left, I'll take right. Guards shoulder be minimal on this level but watch out. Let me know the moment you end up in trouble."

"Sure thing," Natasha breathed, tone as casual as if she'd just asked her out for coffee.  She slunk into the shadows and disappeared almost immediately, as stealthily as a cat.

The lights were still down as Steve pressed on, opening a set of doors to find trails of long, empty corridors. The quiet was almost eerie. Someone surely must have found a guard's body by now; they must have been aware they were under attack. Which meant now they were on the defensive.

Steve kept his movements quick and quiet, finding storerooms full of chemicals and dusty, archived files, but no actual personnel or labs yet. It was almost unnerving. And he had this great sense of the weight above of him, pressing down... they were god knows how far underground. Even the air felt different... like it was musty, old. Steve didn't like it. He'd spent too much time in bunkers in the forties to feel comfortable here.

Then, _finally,_ Steve found a lab. There were three Alphas and a beta in lab coats, clustered around a bench and muttering to each other.  Clearly, the length of the power outage was beginning to cause them some anxiety; they were hunched all together, using flashlights on their phones.  When Steve slipped in, two of them immediately shined lights over, but Steve rolled and avoided being seen.

"...Pietro?" asked one of the scientists, voice uncertain.

"Tony? Can I get the lights on in lab seven, please?" he whispered into his comm. "I need to intimidate some people."

* * *

Tony and Sam found the stairwell.  It was empty. Poured concrete with a thin metal railing, it had the cavernous, echoing feeling of an industrial shaft.  It was not especially friendly.

Tony peeked over the railing.  "...goes down pretty far," he observed.

"Good thing we've both got wings, huh?" said Sam with a grin.  He pulled himself over the raining. partially unfolded his metal wings, and dropped down headfirst.

Tony put a hand on the railing and jumped over after him.  It went down a full seven stories before they hit the bottom.

Tony's comm crackled and Steve's voice came in.

"Turn on the lights?  Steve, we severed the power source.  Until the guys on the outside hook up the jennies, I can't do jack-shit," said Tony with a frown.    "Just intimidate them by candlelight.  Where are you guys? We're downstairs, give us a location."

* * *

 Natasha arrived before Sam and Tony did.  Her hackles were up and she was oozing with adrenaline; one of the scientists, an older man, had already put his hands on his head in a gesture of surrender.  The other three, however, plunged their hands into their pockets and put something in their mouths.

"No!" Steve threw his shield and it slammed into two of the Alphas' legs, knocking them to the floor. Two of them, a young man and a young woman with small, dangly red earrings, were already shuddering and frothing at the mouth. The other was still alive, the pill knocked from his mouth at the hit. He scrambled across the floor for it. But Steve landed on him before he could, catching his hand and pressing down on him. The Alpha let out a low laugh.

The scientist next to him wheezed out his laugh breath. "H-hail..."

"You don't get away that easy," Steve hissed as he fisted a hand in the man's hair. He pressed his face into the floor and leaned down, hissing in his ear. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

The Alpha laughed again. "Am I really supposed to believe that our precious Captain America is capable of torture?"

It was Steve's turn to laugh. He smiled against the Alpha's ear, teeth almost teasing. "Do you really believe everything history tells you?" he murmured. And then Steve trailed his hand down, found a pressure point. He pressed down and the Alpha grunted in agony.

"I w-won't tell you a-anything..."

"I don't really appreciate that attitude." Steve's voice was detached. He soundly oddly confident, even for him, oddly... sure of himself. He pressed down harder. The Alpha wheezed.

"Tell me-" Steve pressed. "-everything you know about the Winter Soldier. And, while you're at it, why he tried to take me. But we'll start with the basics."

The man was silent.

Steve hooked his foot around his ankle and twisted it around to just the point of breaking it, but not quite. " _What did you do to James Buchanan Barnes?_ "

* * *

Sam and Tony loped easily down the hall together.

"This place is so grim," said Tony.  "I'm turning on my music now."

"Don't--" began Sam, but his comm had already started playing Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride."

"This is for Steve's benefit.  He's missed a lot," said Tony gravely.

Sam sighed but didn't tell him to turn it off.  The truth was, Tony was right. The hallway was gloomy to the point of depression.  The ceiling was too low and there were no tiles on it to cover the pipes and wires that ran along it.  Their footsteps echoed because there was nothing in the hall to muffle the sound. Tony went first, his arc reactor lighting the way in front of them in a ghostly glow.  The doors were mostly unmarked, except with the occasional number: 3. 4. 5...

"Cap said seven, yeah?" asked Sam.

"Lucky number seven," agreed Tony.  He stopped suddenly. Sam walked into him, the suit solid and cold in the basement.

"Ow!  Stark!"

"I smell an omega."

"Yeah, probably Steve."

"No.  It's not Steve.  I know Steve."

Sam sniffed the air.  For a moment the two of them were frozen, huffing the air; Tony's eyes were closed, concentrating.  But it was already gone.

"I doubt they use omegas as guards," pointed out Sam.  "Could've been a janitor or something. Not a threat."

"Yeah," agreed Tony, resuming his walk toward the door labeled 7.

He pulled it open.

Sam shuddered as a breeze blew through; the papers in the lab fluttered around like a million white bats.

Steve had a guy on the floor; Natasha was holding a gun to another man's head.

"-- _James Buchanan Barnes?_ " Steve was saying.  His tone was hard, sharp. Not at all what Tony was used to.

Tony's hackles were up in an instant.

"I thought we were here for information about the Winter Soldier.  Not your ex," he snarled.

" _Tony_ ," said Natasha in warning.  She'd seen too many interrogations go south because of bickering between interrogators.

The man Steve was holding was squirming, letting out a long, low whine of pain.  Yet a small chuckle escaped him at Tony's words.

"Pietro," he managed to gasp.

"What'd he say?  Pet--" began Tony.

But then his eye caught another person in the room.  A young man was standing against the far wall, watching them.  He wasn't in a lab coat, or any sort of uniform. He was wearing a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, and his long hair was threatening to fall into his eyes.  He had a goatee, the same silvery blond as his hair. Tony wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed him before. He was an omega. He didn't look at all upset or concerned; he was eyeing them with bored curiosity.

Sam seemed to see him at the same time as Tony.  He had already pulled a gun and was pointing it at him.  He didn't look at all worried that he was being held at gunpoint; he was eyeing Steve and the man in the labcoat.

"You're a _кролик_?" he asked. He seemed to be speaking to Steve.

"What's a krollik?" asked Tony.

"Rabbit," he translated.  Tony and Sam looked lost.

"Pietro.  Get the papers," hissed the man on the ground.  "Get them to Strucker, don't let--" He couldn't finish; Steve was twisting his ankle too hard.

"...rabbit?" repeated Tony.

"Omega," clarified Natasha, her eyes eyeing him sharply, her gun still trained on the older scientist, even though his hands were still on his balding head.  "In the east, we say bears and rabbits."

"I thought he was a bear," said Pietro, staring intensely at STeve.

"Have you been living under a rock?  That's all anyone's talking about, him being an omega," said Tony.  "He came out months ago."

Pietro's attention turned to Tony.  His look turned ugly.

"Do you feel guilty?" he asked.

Tony looked baffled.  "Why?"

"For killing people.  I know you. You're Tony Stark.  They call you the Merchant of Death.  You kill people."

A shadow passed over Tony's face, then disappeared.  "Yeah, well, no one's perfect. Who the hell are you?  Are you one of their guinea pigs? You need rescued or what?"

" _Pietro_ ," repeated the man on the floor insistently, his voice edged with pain.

"Don't do what the Alpha tells you to. They enjoy it far too much, I find," Steve breathed.

"And I should do what _you_ tell me to instead?" Pietro asked, tilting his head at Steve quizzically. Steve threw him a look over his shoulder.

"You don't wanna get on my bad side, kid," he said, voice slow. The Alpha squirmed beneath him, trying to get free. Steve slammed his head into the floor again, but not hard enough to knock him out. He knew the limits and extents of his own strength well, although it had been a messy learning curve at the beginning.

The Alpha below him laughed breathlessly. "You think you're untouchable. I tell you w-what Captain-" Steve cut him off as he wrenched his leg back. It definitely broke that time, bent awkwardly at the knee.

Tony cringed when he heard the snap.

" _Newton's nuts, Steve!_ " he cried, horrified.  " _You just broke that guy's leg!"_

"Every word that you utter that isn't answering my questions means another bone broken. Do I make myself clear?"demanded Steve.

"I don't know anything about the Winter Soldier!  He's above my clearance!" yelled the scientist, voice tight with pain.

Steve's grip tightened in his hair. "Fine. Then why did you try and take me?"

" _Hey_!" barked Sam.

Tony looked over at him, confused, but Sam was staring wide-eyed at the wall, where, moments before, Pietro had been.  His gun was now aimed at nothing at all.

"What the--"

Everyone looked around.  Pietro was standing by the door with an armful of papers.  The floor and benches were clean, the notebooks all gathered up in his arms.

Sam and Natasha both trained their guns on him, looking confused about how he'd ended up there and with all the notes to boot.

"Don't you _dare_ take those," hissed Natasha.

"...I would hate to get on his bad side.  He might break my leg, too," said Pietro, who sounded mocking rather than sincere.  "Should I hand these notes over to _him_?  So he can kill more people with them?" He was looking at Tony.

Tony held up his hands.  "Look, pal, I'm not the bad guy here."  There was a defensive edge to his voice.  One Steve knew meant that the kid was hitting all the right nerves.

"You s-see their t-true c-colors--" the man on the ground said.  Steve pressed down on him and he let out a strangled cry of pain followed by a babble of words: "Please, please stop, they want the serum.  That's all I know, I swear, please... the others all died or went feral..."

"So you're not the bad guys, but you are pointing a gun at me?" asked Pietro.

" _What others?_ " asked Sam, eyes narrowing.

"The other soldiers, I swear, I don't know anything, I don't even work with the specimens, just samples, they all came from Siberia or Lehigh--"

"I know this looks bad but we are definitely the good guys," said Tony.

"Run, rabbit.  Before they begin to torture you, too," said the man on the ground, grinning maniacally.

There was a flash of silver.

" _What the hell_?" barked Sam; Natasha had already fired, but the bullet hit the wall.  Pietro was gone. So were the notes. The door was closing; Sam raced over to it to look down the hall, but there was no sign of the omega.

The man on the floor began laughing.

"Did... did that guy just teleport or something?" demanded Tony.  He was pointedly trying not to look at the guy's leg, bent at a weird angle.  It was making him feel ill.

" _Shit_ ," said Natasha.  "What was that, was that one of your experiments?  How did he do that?"

"They found them in Sokovia.  I don't know anything. I only work with samples--" the man under Steve was gasping.

"So there's more than one? asked Sam, looking just as unsettled as Natasha.

"This just keeps getting better and better," said Tony darkly, putting his face plate on.  He didn't want to see Steve like this, and he didn't want anyone to see his face. He was sure that, if Steve paused for one goddamn second, he'd be aware of how uncomfortable Tony was.  He hadn't expected this. He'd killed a guard, Steve was torturing some poor schmuck, and some freaky ghost kid had been calling him to answer for all of his past actions... he wasn't sure what he'd expected, but not this.  This was nightmarish, on par with one of SHIELD's fucking simulations.

"He's useless Steve. You're not going to get anything else out of him." Natasha sighed, nudging the older beta with the butt of her gun. The touch was almost gentle. "Cooperate and you won't end up like that." The scientist nodded frantically.

Steve hummed and got off of the crippled Alpha, standing.  He heard the sound of bullets scattering down the hallway. "I think the guards have caught up," Sam murmured, edging towards the doorway.  "They're probably shooting at that omega kid as we speak."

The Alpha on the floor grunted. "They're going to get you one day.  They're going to butcher you for samples, or, if they can't recreate the serum, _breed_ you-" Steve twisted around and kicked him in the jaw, breaking his neck and killing him. He wasn't sure if he'd intended to end him but he also didn't really care at that moment in time.

The lights flickered on just as Steve aimed a kick at the scientist's head.  Everyone blinked in the suddenly light; they'd gotten the generators up, and they were no longer working by the light of Tony's arc reactor.

The scientists on the floor didn't blink, their eyes glassy.

There were red lights flashing on the walls, and sounds from the corridor.  Their stealth mission was no longer stealthy at all.

Steve pulled his shield out to hold in one hand. "Nat, get as much info as you can off of the computers. Everyone else, with me," he said, listening toward the hallway.  The echoing sound of footsteps was edging closer. He felt a pang of something in his chest and he internally sighed. Steve had _tried_ to warn him; he _knew_ Tony wouldn't like seeing him like this.

Natasha was tapping away on a computer; it was a laptop that had been running on battery power, unaffected by the power outage.  "Preliminary behavioral experiments on mutants. Stuff like that. But nothing about the serum.  It's all coded.  Project Guiding Star, Project Eve... a-ha!  Project Winter!"  Natasha looked over at Tony.  "Stark. I've got a password-protected wall.  Come here, I need you."

"No," said Tony, voice tinny from within the suit.

"What?"

"No," repeated Tony.  The helmet was expressionless.  The voice inside it was, too. "You know what?  That kid was right. The last time I saw someone tortured for information, for secrets, it was me, in Afghanistan."

It wasn't just that.  It was the casualness with which they did it.  It was the smell of excitement on Steve. He wasn't happy, no.  But he wasn't remorseful, either.

"Oh, God, we are _not_ doing this now..." moaned Sam.

"Damn it, Stark, he was going to kill himself anyway," snapped Natasha impatiently, eyes darting between Tony and the computer screen in front of her.

"So that gives us the right to torture him?"

"If we don't figure this out soon, a whole lot more people are going to die," said Sam.  "We're doing what we have to, to protect--"

"So you're saying the ends justify the means?  That the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?  Those are all lines I used to use," interrupted Tony.

"Christ, Stark, this isn't the time for a speech about accountability!" yelled Sam.

"You never let a subject get into you head.  That's Interrogation 101," said Natasha darkly.  "You think you're special because you got raped in a cave?  You think you're the only one who's been forced to drink saline or had vinegar put in your eyes?   _That shit happens.  Now get your ass over here and help me unlock these fucking files_ , _you son of a bitch_."

Steve had seen Natasha be aggressive before.  But not like this. Her words, her tone, the volume... all of it was hard and violent.  She looked ready to murder Tony.

He walked over, reached over her shoulders, and began typing silently, his fingers a bit slow on the keyboard because of the armor.  A moment later, the computer pinged.

Natasha grabbed a small thumb drive from her pocket and plugged it into a tower next to the monitor; a moment later she was slipping it into her pocket, and she and Tony were both behind Steve, Natasha pointing a gun into the beta's back.  Tony's face plate was still on, the face of Iron Man fixed into place, expressionless.

"I don't think there's time to explore much else," said Sam.  "Lead the way, man, we've got your back."

"Are you kidnapping me?" asked the remaining scientist.

"Yes," said Natasha bluntly.

He looked over to Tony, clearly hoping that Tony would chime in, but Tony was silent.


	11. Cigar Run, part III

The soldier wasn't sure who was escorting who.  He was walking in front of Karpov, but Karpov's hand was touching the small of his back lightly, guiding him.

Karpov had a radio clipped to his belt and an old Klashnikov slung over his shoulder and had donned his beret; he looked ready for a fight.  The soldier learned why quickly; the radio was chattering away, static-y voices declaring that Base 23 was compromised.

Yet he was also carrying a few folders and a red book in his other hand, and that made it seem like they _weren't_ going to fight.

They charged up a flight of stairs, a stream of men jogging down in the opposite direction.  When they walked toward the right wing of Level 1, he suddenly realized where they were going.

Were they running away?

Karpov opened the door to the garage.  It was chaos; there were people running all over the place, some in fatigues and others in lab coats, some carrying guns and others hauling notebooks and computers.

The soldier's heart dropped a little.  There was the girl, the one with the weird eyes who made him see visions.  The hair on the back of his neck rose a little. She stared at him and even though she was a beta and he knew she couldn't smell him, he felt like she knew everything about him anyway, his thoughts and feelings and all the tiny little pheromonal smells that an Alpha would have been able to sense.

"Calm yourself, soldier," warned Karpov; they were striding through the large hangar; people were pouring out en masse.

He tried to obey the order, but it was easier said than done.  His dander refused to go down and he couldn't help that. Especially when it looked like they were all getting into the back of the same vehicle, an old Soviet cargo truck, the back covered with a black tarpaulin, two benches facing each other.  He had a weird idea that he'd sat in the back of a military vehicle like this before, him and a bunch of guys, laughing, on their way somewhere in Europe.

He rubbed his eyes.  His head hurt.

Karpov offered him a cigarette as he climbed into the back of the truck.  He took it gratefully.

"Soldier.  Your mission is to stay alive, understand?  You're too valuable to us to fight anymore and you are weak right now.  Your objective is to protect yourself, and to protect the girl," directed Karpov.

She was the last person in the world he wanted to be anywhere near, but he said, "Yes sir."

The girl's attention, at least, was no longer on him; she had turned to an omega sitting next to her.  He was holding a bunch of papers and books and things.

"What do you have there?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "I don't know."

"Then why are you taking it?"

"I saw Stark.  He wanted it. It must be important."

Stark?  Howard Stark, the guy in the photo?  The guy who had upset the girl at Baby's and paraded around Captain Rogers?   _That_ guy?  What the hell was he doing here?

He was feeling more confused than normal.

" _You saw him?_ " she demanded, eyes widening a little.

The truck had already started under them and they were headed out.  He gripped the bench he was sitting on, watching her closely, because Karpov had told him to.

"Yes.  He was wearing armor and helping torture a man," he said.

"That sounds like Stark," she said grimly.

"Captain America is a rabbit, like me."

"Yes, I know."

"But all the bears follow him."

"Because he's the captain."

"But _he's a rabbit_."

She shrugged expansively.  "Well, they gave him that serum."

"They gave _him_ a serum and he's practically lobotomized."

The soldier realized the omega meant him.

"That was a different serum, I think."

"...I would risk it, too, if it meant bears listened to me."

"Don't say that, Pietro," she scoffed.  " _I_ listen to you."

"But you're normal."

She laughed suddenly.  For a split second, she wasn't scary; she looked like a typical teenage girl.  "You are the only person in my whole life who's ever said I was normal," she said, smiling at him, and he smiled back, and the two of them leaned in to each other's shoulders and somehow fell asleep on the rough wooden benches in the back of the truck.

* * *

Steve didn't have to see Tony's face to know he was feeling. He was disappointed in him, or at least, that's what it felt like. Steve realised Tony was just like the Alpha on the floor who had sneered that Steve wouldn't be able to torture him; he'd been brought up on the history of "Cap." The playing cards, the comic books, the propaganda... but not the reality. That Steve was a soldier. He killed people, he _hurt_ people, and it didn't bother him anymore. He compartmentalized the violence and he did what he had to do without hesitation because that's how battles were won.  And he couldn't say he had many regrets.  Certainly not with HYDRA, no. Because now it was _personal_. It had bothered him once, maybe, but he was beyond numb to that now. Ever since Steve had watched Bucky fall from that train to his supposed death... killing had been easier. In a way, a piece of Steve had died with him that day.  The piece of Steve that was innocent.  That thought wars could be won without getting your hands dirty.

The footsteps and shouting in the hall had quieted down, which must mean that the guards were organizing themselves, getting into position, Steve figured. He sighed. "Don't give them an opportunity to shoot him," he murmured to Natasha, meaning the scientist. He wasn't prepared to kill herself for the cause, good for him, but the soldiers would certainly take the chance. Natasha was still fuming, giving off a kind of ferocious energy which honestly just made Steve all the more pumped.

Steve looked over at Tony. He wished he could see his eyes. "Tony.  They want to put me in a box. They want to rape me. They want to make me to give them super soldiers to take over the world. They already killed my baby. They killed everyone I loved, or took them away. Please try to understand... I have no mercy left for these people," he breathed and then he stepped out into the corridor.

_"They killed my baby.  They killed everyone I ever loved."_

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing.

It wasn't a baby, he wanted to say.  It was a _zygote_ , a bunch of cells, and it was an _accident_ , and they would have gotten rid of it anyway, right?

And what the hell was this about _everyone I ever loved_?  Who was Tony, then?  He'd never been targeted by HYDRA, hadn't even known about them until recently.  Steve was talking about Bucky, Tony knew; he could practically read Steve's thought.  Knew he was thinking about his Alpha dropping off the train. Knew he was thinking about finding his Alpha post-experimentation, when they couldn't feel each other anymore.

Tony would never be good enough for him.  He would never be Bucky.

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt.  It should have. But Tony had already snapped himself closed, the way he used to when they grabbed his hair and shoved his head into a bucket of dirty slush and held him under.  The way he did when he realized he could no longer trust Obadiah, the way he did when he'd realized his arc reactor was poisoning him. Tony was very, very good at compartmentalizing.

So he was bonded to a total psychopath who didn't love him.  So what? He was Iron Man.

And, as Ozzy had already so wisely observed, it was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead, or had any thoughts within his head.  Iron Man was impenetrable. Even before the armor, Tony had discovered he could cordon off sections of his mind, lock his emotions when it was critically necessary to do so.

This was one of those critical times.

Steve was already storming into the hallway, chucking his shield like some sort of oversized novelty frisbee.  Sam was shooting.  Guards were shooting.  And Tony was raising the heels of his hands and shooting, too, shooting people he didn't know, killing them personally.  Which, in a way, was better than the alternative, which was designing weapons to send to kill people _impersonally_.

Perversely, Tony's music was still playing through their comms, and it was hilariously (in)appropriate: _"There is no turning back now.  You've woken up the demon in me.  Get up, come on get down with the sickness... get up, come on, get down with the sickness..."_

Eight men. Child's play.

Steve flung his shield. It snapped off the opposite walls and got two in the head, just as Steve slammed into the first.  He twisted around and flung a knife (courtesy of Natasha) which landed in a guard's arm, pinning it to the wall and making him drop his gun.  Bullets danced across the hallway. Sam appeared behind him, shooting two at the back; he hit a switch on his suit and one wing flung out suddenly, catching a man who was charging Steve and stunning him. Steve slammed the one he was currently tousling with against the wall and knocked him out cold before he punched the next one to approach him. He had a needle in his hand like they'd tried to use back at Steve's apartment. It was cute that they still thought they could take him alive. He headbutted the one with the knife in his arm, knocking him out too, before he wrenched the knife back and flung into the seventh man's thigh. He sprinted forward, jumping off one wall and knocking an Alpha out cold with a knee to the face and plunging an elbow into another nose with a sickening crunch. It all happened in a matter of seconds, Steve moving like lightning.

Oh, how he'd missed this.

The fight was over before it began.  None of the guards had stood a chance.  Natasha was dragging along her prisoner (no, Tony corrected himself: "subject"), and Sam was changing out the magazine of his gun, and they were rushing toward the stairs while red emergency lights flashed along the long, low-ceilinged hallway.

But Steve was stopping.  Peering into a lab.

"Steve, come on-" Natasha was tugging the scientist back towards the stairs. "We gotta go."

But Steve's gaze was fixed on the door in front of him. Lab number 9. It felt _familiar_ somehow, like he'd been here before. Steve kicked his shield up into his grip and then moved to push the door open, "One sec..."

And Tony, even though he felt currently repulsed by him, was peeking after him.

Lab 9.

_Lab 9._

_His left arm itched so much where they had injected him.  He kept trying to reaching over to scratch his inner elbow, only to discover there wasn't one.  Only metal. Hard, inflexible, without feeling, cold to the touch. His left arm was gone but it still itched, even since Azzano, ever since they'd been captured... it seemed so long ago and yet so recent... he would never forget it, never forget the way Zola looked over him dispassionately, like he was a piece of meat, like the fluid he was injecting into his didn't boil in his veins and make him gasp and sweat and squirm and beg for mercy._

_But he couldn't reach his arm this time, flesh or otherwise.  It was strapped down. He was lying there, reclined, and unable to move._

_"--second highest setting should do--" someone was saying, and fear was gripping him.  He knew what was coming. Couldn't name it but knew it was bad. Knew he'd rather be anywhere else, anyone else.  His chest was heaving with barely controlled panic, his eyes wide._

_Lab 9, La Demajagua, Cuba._

_Lab 13, Yakutsk, Siberia._

_Lab 14, Pongyang, North Korea._

_Lab 2, Lehigh, New Jersey._

_There were labs all over the world, inescapable, and every one of them had a special room just for him.  They had no mercy. He was already shaking, uncontrollably, his body reaction before his mind could. Someone was putting a rubber guard in his mouth so he wouldn't bite his tongue off.  He moaned in protest but he couldn't move, and it was coming, inevitable, the white-hot pain--_

"Colonel Karpov--  please--"

Tony wasn't aware he was speaking until the words had left his mouth.

He blinked.

He was shaking inside his suit and his digital display was flashing and, over the music, JARVIS was trying to get his attention.  His vitals had spiked. His EEG was a mess, his heart rate was 132 beats a minute.

Steve's broad back was to him, staring into the dark room.  The walls were covered in little stainless-steel drawers, like a library's card catalog, almost.  There were lots of blank screens, medical devices, wires strewn everywhere... in the middle of the room, a chair, like a dentist's chair, except no dentist had straps like that on the arm rests...

The room felt thick and heavy with... something. Whatever it was, Steve didn't like it. None of the group did, in fact. There was something especially _bad_ about it, like there was a sickness in the air. It was almost hard to breath- wait, no. That was _Tony_.  The breathlessness was coming from their bond.  Steve could feel Tony and it was shaking him down to his very core.

...was it because of the lab, or because of him?  Was Tony disgusted by him?  Repulsed at seeing Steve in action?

Maybe the worst part was Steve wouldn't even describe what he did as torture. He'd cause someone just as much pain in an actual fight just as easily, it wasn't like he water boarded him or started peeling away fingernails. Steve didn't feel like he was the kind of person who was capable of torture, honestly... he just, broke his leg right? That wasn't _that_ bad.

But then, he did kill him straight after.

Was Tony right? Was Steve disgusting? He didn't know but he was sure beginning to feel like it, all the hype from the fight dissipating the instant he stepped into lab 9.

"You said that name before.  Karpov.  After the practice simulation," Natasha said softly, gaze darting between the two of them. "Steve, we should go.  ...Steve?  Steve!"

His head snapped around from he'd been gazing at the chair. It pulled to him in the most sinister way. Steve almost felt an itch to sit in it. But he also had a strange sense that, if he did, he wouldn't get out of it the same person. It was stupid and nonsensical, it was just a chair... wasn't it?

Steve's heart was stammering away in his chest. He felt like he was having a panic attack of some sort, except he wasn't. Tony was.

"You guys head up. Give me two minutes." Steve whispered. Natasha nodded and guided the scientist with her, Sam following on reluctantly. Steve turned to Tony, the blank eyes of the suit giving away nothing.

He pulled his own goggles up so at least Tony could see his face (not that Steve was sure he even wanted to). "Tony?" He asked, his voice hesitant. "Can you hear me?"

Tony's eyes traveled over to Steve.  As usual, the HUD brought up his stats.  Six foot two, two hundred seventy pounds.  The shield was dangling by his side, and Tony wondered, suddenly, how often it had been used as an actual shield, and how often it had been used as a weapon.  What was the shield-to-kill ratio on that thing?

"Yeah," he said to Steve warily.

He didn't like this room.  It had a bunch of associations that weren't his.  Even inside the helmet, he imagined he could smell singed hair and taste something metallic.

"Let's go," said Tony, turning.  He hated that Steve could feel him.  Yeah, he was panicking, but no one was supposed to know that while he was in the suit.  And he shouldn't be making these kinds of associations. These were not his memories. They were the Winter Soldier's.

Tony wanted to turned and yell at Steve for making this all about Bucky.  For asking that scientist about him and for using his death to justify all those other deaths.  But Bucky wasn't dead, was he? Because when Steve had asked about him, asked about James Buchanan Barnes, the scientist had known exactly who he meant and he said he didn't have clearance to the Winter Soldier program.  That pretty much confirmed what Steve had been saying all along.

Maybe it was fake-out.  Maybe they weren't the same person and that scientist had been trying to mess with Steve's head.  But it was difficult to mess with someone's head while your leg was being broken and Tony was starting to worry Steve had been right all along, about them being the same person.  If that was the case, Tony considered himself well and properly fucked.

He made his way back to the door, back to the chair, back to Steve.  Steve had been right about Bucky and he was right about another thing, too... Tony didn't like seeing him like this.

Steve stopped him by the door with a light touch to his arm, his expression almost...hesitant. His confidence was gone and now Steve seemed nervous, almost the same kind of nerves he'd had when him and Tony had tumbled around in bed together and he hadn't known what he was doing. "Hey," his words were soft. "I'm sorry you don't like what you see." And Steve meant it. He would never hide himself from Tony, it was warts and all between them, but that didn't mean he didn't regret upsetting him. Steve knew he could be...scary like this, that he wasn't what people expected.

"I'm not looking for him because I want him Tony. I'm looking for him because I have to. _You're_ my mate. Nothing will change that. Okay? He already took so many years of my life; they were wasted on him. I'm not letting him take you away too," Steve murmured. Maybe he believed Bucky had actually loved him he would have felt differently, but right now all Steve could remember was pity.  "And I'm also not going to let HYDRA use him to hurt us."

He shook his head, running a hand over his face.

"Please Tony, don't shut off from me now. I can't take it."

"...this isn't the time, Rogers," said Tony, his tone neutral within the helmet.

Granted, they could have been anywhere and Tony would've said that.  Even if they weren't in a HYDRA base and about to be attacked, Tony still would have said it wasn't the time, because he didn't like talking about his emotions, and didn't think there ever really was "a time."  And he sure as hell didn't want to hear Steve talk about his feelings, either. When he and Steve were alone and Steve was calm, he was reassuring, sure. But in the heat of battle, Steve's emotions were more complex.  His statement earlier, about HYDRA taking those he loved... Tony knew who Steve was talking about.

Steve stared dumbly at the back of the suit as Tony had walked away, taking a minute to get himself to move. _Rogers_ ? Jesus Christ, was he _Rogers_ now?

It was 1944 all over again, he and Bucky screaming at each other in France while the rest of the Howlies took smoke breaks; after Azzano, Bucky had come back different, moody, and their bond had been broken, and they'd called each other "Barnes" and "Rogers" as if they'd never been bonded at all.

Was that why it hurt so much when Tony called him _Rogers_?  Or were his and Tony's hurt getting confused together?  The bond was compounding their emotions, and Steve almost felt queasy. He hated this. Steve liked to fix things as soon as possible. What he'd said to Tony hadn't been easy, admitting Bucky didn't love him; it had been full of emotion, exposing and he'd... he'd gotten _nothing_ in return. It was like it wasn't even his mate inside that suit.  Mates were supposed to _listen_.

Steve's hurt curdled into anger.  Anger he'd probably take out on the next guy that shot him.

...this really _was_ just like 1944.

Tony strode down the hall, wanting to put some distance between himself and the bodies of the guards, distance between him and the room with the chair... Steve was hurrying after him.  He could feel Steve's hurt and anxiety and regret, and knew Steve wanted to fix this, but Tony just wasn't in the mood. He was still trying to quell his panic from that fucking room.

He didn't like Bucky, not a bit.  But Tony understood they'd done something terrible to him.  And that, however much he considered Bucky a rival, Bucky still hadn't deserved that.

They got to the stairwell; Tony could hear boots several floors up, stomping their way down.

Tony turned to Steve.  "You wanna fly?" he offered, holding out an arm and gesturing.  It was an olive branch, the best one he could provide at the moment.  He didn't want the two of them to be furious at each other.

"Flying sounds good," Steve breathed and moved into Tony's outstretched arm. Physically, they were close, with Steve's hand on his shoulder and Tony's arm around his waist, holding him against him. But that was it. Emotionally, Tony wouldn't let him. Sure, Steve could feel his mate's emotion but he could also feel that his unavoidable intrusion wasn't welcome. He felt a pang of envy; only Alphas had that ability, to distance bond emotions.  It wasn't fair.  Steve had to handle the brunt of Tony's emotions whether he wanted to or not, all the time.

He tried to ignore Tony's emotions and focus on the weight on the arm around his waist.

Grabbing Steve around the waist felt weird in the suit; Tony had gotten used to being the smaller, shorter one, but the suit changed that.  Now Tony was the bulky one. He was glad he couldn't easily smell Steve, couldn't feel his skin. Right now, he wanted to think of them as Captain America and Iron Man, not Tony and Steve.

Maybe, he reflected, that was how Natasha and Clint did it.  By separating their battle personas from their real ones. Then again, as far as he could tell, both of them lived for their jobs.  He'd never seen Natasha wearing anything but tactical gear, and Clint had been away for months now. Maybe there was no separation after all, and they just didn't mind seeing the other one killing people.  Maybe they'd become numb to it.

A few guards spotted them on the way and tried to shoot. The bullets pinged off of the Iron Man suit like nothing.

Steve jumped out of his grasp once they got to the top, spotting the guards Sam and Tony had dealt with earlier a little way off. His eyes widened a little to see one of their heads completely caved in. Well, _Sam_ hadn't done that. So what was Tony's problem? Maybe he'd thought Steve was above all this. Maybe he'd thought Steve was better.

Well, he wasn't.

It kinda hurt to disappoint him, but this was reality.  Steve was no better than anyone else.  He was just as brutal and violent as Tony or anyone else.

In a way both of them were war profiteers, men who fed on conflict.

And at least in that sense, they were made for each other.

* * *

His left arm was numb.  He woke up because the truck had stopped, and he blinked groggily.  He flexed his left hand, trying to get some feeling back into it.

The girl was staring at him.

He stared back.

It was just the three of them in the back of the truck, even though the truck was big enough to fit probably twenty people.  Clearly, no one had wanted to be anywhere near her, and he didn't blame them. Only the omega beside her seemed utterly unperturbed.  He was reading from a notebook he'd taken from the facility.

He heard a door slam.  Karpov and the driver were getting out.  He peeked out the back; they were at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.  It was mid-morning.

Karpov appeared.  "Breakfast?" he offered, ignoring the soldier.

"Please," said the girl.

Karpov noticed the omega reading the notebook  "Hey. That's classified."

The omega ignored him.

Karpov muttered something under his breath; he and the driver walked inside together.

The omega glanced up, his gaze following after them.

"I take my coffee black!" the girl yelled after them; Karpov waved to indicate he'd heard her.  She looked back to the soldier. "Are they going to feed you, too?"

"I don't know," he said.

"You loved him."

"...Colonel Karpov?" he asked, confused.

"No.  Captain America.  Now he's bonded to Stark."

His stomach squirmed a little.  He'd only met Stark once or twice, but had seen him a couple more times than that.  He was overly-friendly, overly-confident, and one of the most dominant Alphas he'd ever encountered.  Of _course_ he'd stolen Steve away.

"He stole from us, too," offered the omega.

More confusion.  "...what, your Alpha?"

"No.  Our lives," said the girl.

"We were ten," said the omega.

"Stark rockets are never duds.  It was a one-in-a-million chance."

"You knew which ones were Stark, because they sounded like--"  The omega whistled. The girl picked it up.

Yes, the soldier recognized the sound.  The whistle of missiles, the sound right before the ground in front of you crumbled and opened up and your buddy was suddenly gone, leaving behind a shred of his jacket or a finger or a handful of shells.

"They dug us out after two days," said the girl.

"They said, oh, it's only an omega," said the omega.

"But I was there, too," said the girl.

"There was a UN center for refugees but it was so overcrowded they stopped taking the rabbits.  She wouldn't go without me."

"You're twins," he realized.  The story they'd told was clearly one that had been told over and over to each other, solidifying it, trying to make sense of it.  But the way they bounced back and forth. The way the boy seemed so unbothered by the girl. Their solidarity with each other.

They nodded in sync.

"We didn't have anywhere to stay.  The rockets, they took out our whole block."

"Everyone we knew."

"But ever since they found us, we have a place to sleep.  And we don't have to steal food anymore. It's nice."

"Why did _you_ volunteer?" she asked pointedly.

The boy held up one of the notebooks.  "It must have been bad. Because of what you let them do to you."

He tried to remember.  "Well... I just... I wanted to beat up some Krauts," he said lamely.  Hell, everyone had been signing up. It seemed like a good gig, he had an omega and siblings to care for, and he was a strong young Alpha and his country needed him.  That's why. _We can!  We will! We must!_ the posters had said.  Every man worth a damn had eventually signed up.  Or been drafted.

The twins exchanged a look.  "...Krauts?"

"Yeah.  Or Japs," he conceded.  "But I was stationed on the western front so I didn't see much of the Pacific, mostly just France and Italy and Austria."

"...you know it's 2010, right?"

He blinked.  "...w... what?"

"It's 2010.  That war's over."

His heart was hammering.  "Wait, it's over? ...but... but... we won, right?"

"Yeah, you won."

His face broke into a grin.  "The war's over? ...oh, boy, really?  It's over? We won?"

"Uh, yeah."

He laughed.  It felt weird, unfamiliar to laugh, his face stretching out in ways it hadn't in a long time.  He couldn't believe it. How the hell had the war ended without him even noticing? This was swell; he could finally go home, a hero; he'd made it.

Karpov pushed the tarp back from the back of the truck and offered the girl a bag and two cups of coffee; she passed one to the omega.

"You, what are you so happy about?" demanded Karpov, glaring at the soldier.

He grinned.  "The war's over!  We _won_!" he announced, then whooped with joy, jumping up.  "I knew it, I knew we'd win!  The war's over!  The war's over!" He was giddy. He could go home now, hug Steve, hug Rebecca, get himself a respectable job-- oh, boy, once the other fellows heard, he bet they'd have one hell of a party, go drinking, go dancing, make a real night of it--

Karpov stared at him for a moment, then looked at the girl.  "Don't confuse him," he snapped, pulling out a red book. "солдат.  Come."

He put a hand on the back of the truck and sprang out, feeling happy and excited.  Karpov threw an arm around him and dragged him toward the edge of the road, flipping open the book with a sigh.  The soldier was still grinning. Karpov offered him a cigarette and he took it. He cupped the flame of a match in his hands to light it; Karpov was reading from the book.  "Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать--"

"Sir?" he asked, confused, glancing up from that first pleasant drag of the cigarette.

"--pассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на Родину--"

"....sir?"  he repeated, confused.  He knew those words... how did he know those words...?

"Один. Товарный вагон."

He stiffened.  His eyes glazed over.  "...готовы соблюдать," he said.  The cigarette dropped from his fingers.

"There's a good soldier," said Karpov gently, patting him.  He glanced down at the mostly unsmoked cigarette in the dirt, and reached out to crush it with the heel of his boot.  "Your objective is to keep the girl alive. Not to listen to her. You listen only to me, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good.  Now return to your mission."

He went back to the truck and watched the twins rifle through the bag of food from the gas station, picking apart a muffin together, peeling an orange.  They tried to talk to him but he ignored them, and they eventually stopped trying, eating their breakfast in silence while he watched.

* * *

They strode down the hall together, passing two guards, and Steve looked down.  Tony felt his pang of surprise.

Tony's stomach twisted.  Right. That guy. The one he'd smashed into the wall.

He wanted to try to justify it.  Protest that hat guy was a guard, not a scientist, and Tony wasn't exactly trying to kill him, really, and he certainly hadn't tortured him, it had been over quickly.  Obviously there was a moral grey area, but Tony had done what he had to do... right? ...but...

 _I bet Stane's laughing at me from hell,_ thought Tony grimly.  He could remember all too well the  conversation they'd had after the press conference two years ago.

_"Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you just caused me?"_

_"Yeah, I created a pretty big shitstorm, didn't I?"_

_"Shitstorm is an understatement, Tony!  You know how much money we're poised to lose?  You know how many points our stocks are going to drop?"_

_"I dunno... forty, fifty?  Can you really put a price of people's lives?"_

_"Yes, Tony!  Yes! You can!  That's what we do, we're a weapons company!  We make weapons!"_

_"It's blood money.  It's wrong. Dad wouldn't have wanted his legacy to be a body count."_

_"Howard would have wanted us to keep fighting the good fight.  What we do helps maintain peace, Tony. You know that. It's messy but it works, how much worse do you think the world would be without us, huh?  You want to send soldiers over there to defend themselves with their fists?"_

_"We're not doing good enough.  We need to be better, Obie."_

"Hey, Steve?" asked Tony, clanking down the hallway in front of Steve.

So he was Steve again.  "...yeah, Tony?" asked Steve.

"...I'm not mad at you."

"Good to know."

"We're not doing good enough, though.  We need to be better."

"War's never good.  War's never pretty," said Steve mildly.  "Sometimes, it's necessary.  But it's never good."

"Yeah," said Tony with a sigh, "I know."  He had known.  He'd known since 2008.  And as he and his mate walked through the facility, his mind drifted to the teenage omega he'd seen downstairs, the one that had called him the Merchant of Death and stared at him with pure, undiluted hatred.


	12. Cigar Run: Heat Inducer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. This update was one day late, because Tony ran the Los Angeles marathon on Sunday and he's feeling shit-tastic. (Plus he's celebratorily drunk!) (Is celebratorily a word? ...it is now!) Thanks for your understanding! - Sappho & Apollo

"Headed to the jet. Less than five minutes away," came Natasha's voice over the comms as Steve and Tony made their way through the first level.  They had seen no guards, presumably because most of the base was evacuating. "We'll come pick you up. What's your position?"

Steve lifted his hand to answer. "Hey, it's-"

He frowned. He looked down. His leg felt... strange.  Tingly. Steve reached down and pulled- was that a _dart?_ -out of it. Steve felt _weird_ all of a sudden. He felt hot. His knees trembled a little. "T-Tony...?"

Tony was yanked from his reverie suddenly, violently.

Before them was a man and he had an RPG pointed at them.  He laughed as he stepped out from the corner he'd been hiding behind.   Tony's hands were up automatically; he drummed his fingers, charging up the repulsor nodes, ready to fire, if not defensively, then at least in retaliation.

But Steve was already hit.

"You know, you really make it far too easy." The voice was crisp and lightly accented. Steve instantly didn't like it. "'Megas in battle. It's stupid. All it takes is one little heat inducer and pop! You're useless."  He kept the grenade launcher trained on them, a second, smaller gun slung over his shoulder. "The funniest part is I'm going to run away from all this and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Omegas aren't useless," snapped Tony.  "Get with the times, haven't you read any of his damn press releases?"

The man was backing up, slowly.  "Yes, yes, all very inspiring. As impractical as it is motivating.  I can't wait to start seeing omegas joining special forces teams. It will certainly make my job easier."

"You seriously think you can out run a guy that can fly?" Steve said, voice hitching a little.

"I don't think he's gonna be capable of running when his mate goes into heat. Sure, your metabolism will burn through it. But I only need ten minutes. Then I'm out of here."

Steve grit his teeth, his abdomen contracting painfully. His clothes felt too hot. _Everything_ felt too hot. He felt ready to explode.

He'd realized what this was.  This was a heat.  He was going into heat.  Not slowly, as he had before, in Morocco.  No, it was hitting him like a sack full of rocks.  He was breaking into a sweat and shaking, a slave to his biology; his mind was fogging up and he was having difficulty remembering what they'd been doing, exactly.

"T-Tony...you go after him."

Tony was torn between going after the guy and helping Steve.  He couldn't leave Steve alone, could he? Steve was vulnerable like this.  He only needed to bump into one Alpha guard and...

Tony couldn't smell very well in the helmet and he was thanking his lucky stars for that, because he could see, in the gleam of the fluorescent lights, that Steve was already sweating, and he could feel Steve's emotions, the bubbling desire, the desperation.

"It's a pity the Winter Soldier's already left.  You just missed him. But I'm sure you two will get to catch up soon, especially if you insist on coming to us.  It's actually easier this way, really..."

Every bone in Tony's body was telling him to go to Steve.

But Steve had given an order.  And Tony was encased in armor. He was Iron Man, not Tony, not an Alpha, not a human.  Just Iron Man.

He hit the jets; the man pulled the trigger; a second later the whole hallway was engulfed in heat and smoke and dust, and Tony's whole body was being shaken like a damned goldfish in a bag, the suit absorbing some of the shock but not enough; he was being jolted down to his very core.  He was too disoriented to know whether he was up or down, and the navigation system was shot. He bounced off a concrete wall (ow), hit the opposite wall (ow) and then crashed into the man's back, and the two of them tumbled to the ground in a mess. Tony definitely heard something crunch under him.  Getting hit with the Iron Man suit was probably not dissimilar to getting hit by a motorcycle.

His whole display was blinking red, as if he might have missed getting a grenade thrown at him and then bouncing off a couple of concrete walls.

"Fuuck..." Steve whispered; he slumped against a wall, his vision going hazy.  He watched blearily as Tony's suit ot hit, went flying, and then slammed into the HYDRA agent.  Who was he?  A senior agent?  A colonel or general?  A lead scientist?  He looked important; he wore important clothes, but Steve couldn't concentrate.  If asked to describe him Steve couldn't, except that he was an Alpha; Steve's brain had been hijacked and all he could think of was Alphas.

Tony and the other man rolled. Steve didn't know how Tony was doing inside the suit but the HYDRA agent didn't look great. There was blood, but not much of it. The man wasn't dead; Steve could hear him groaning.

He wanted to speak but he couldn't. Steve's jaw trembled and a bead of sweet slipped down his temple. He cried out, his stomach burning with pain. His body was burning through it, like it had down with the heat blocker. But this was a different sort of pain. He was still horny and confused but the pain was coming from a lack of Tony, not just his super-fast metabolism.  Heats without Alphas were hell and Steve suddenly found himself right in the middle of one, on the battlefield.

"Steve? Steve do you copy?"

It was Natasha.

"Stay....st-tay away..." The last thing he needed was two more Alphas in here, making Tony feel threatened. Surely he'd be over this in five, ten minutes?  They could last ten minutes. Steve looked over. The man who had fired on them did not look in a good way. He frowned. "Tony! D-don't kill him. Want him alive."

Steve turned away from them, pressing his forehead against the cool stone wall and dropping his goggles onto the floor. Fuck. He should have anticipated this, he should have known they'd use this against him.  Sure, they could induce heats in the forties, but with something as simple as a dart. It was a complicated process couples would go through when they wanted to time conception well to have a summer baby, or whatever. They used to put people in steam rooms and pump pheromones into the air for hours. In Steve's time, inducing a heat was difficult and expensive and time-consuming.  This had taken seconds.

"Oh, God..." Steve slumped down and soon slid down to the floor, bending over himself. He could hear footsteps. Friend or foe? He couldn't tell. His senses had gone haywire. He breathed out slowly, trying to focus. Steve lifted up his head, his vision fuzzy. It took a moment for it to clear.

Foes.

Drawn by the explosion, two guards had come to see what the commotion was.   Steve reached down and gripped one of Natasha's knives in his belt. But he didn't get up. He would wait for them to come to him.

And then he was going to goddamn kill them.

He willed himself to channel his heat into anger, into something he could use.

Across the room, Tony had gotten up, dizzily, and Steve felt a heavy pang of relief that he was okay, mixed with desire to go to him. 

Tony pulled the face plate down, needing to reorient himself, needing to breathe.

He realized in an instant the mistake he'd made.  The air was sweet and musky and it made his whole body go simultaneously weak and rigid.  His arms broke out in goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck spiked.

He looked down at the Alpha at his feet.  Broken leg, not a threat. Tony didn't have the where-with-all to appreciate the irony.  He would have gladly broken the guy's other leg if he thought he was a competitor.

Tony stepped over him, dropping the face plate, making a beeline for Steve.  Steve was already on the floor, kneeling.

"Captain?  Captain, what's going on?  You guys need backup?" Sam's voice was coming in through Steve's comm but it was being ignored.

Tony stepped over to him and smelled two other Alphas.  He growled _;_ the sound was thick and low and vicious.

The two guards looked at Tony, then looked at Steve.  One of them was edging back, looking like he very much regretted coming here in the first place.  Tony raised his palms and both dropped from a single shot. He was paying zero attention to the man crawling away down the hall; his attention was focused solely on Steve; he dropped down to his knees and grabbed his wrists and buried his face into the back of his neck, smelling him.  He was so aroused it was painful; the suit was helping, he hadn't exactly designed it with erections in mind.

Which brought him to his next problem.  Because he'd already pushed Steve down and bitten down on the back of his neck, _hard._.. and now he couldn't do anything.

He let out a frustrated whine, his teeth digging into Steve's flesh.  His mind was spinning. Could he tear the suit off? No, probably not.  The suit wasn't designed to be torn apart. It wasn't designed to be pulled out without the gantry; he was bolted in and there was absolutely nothing to could do.  There was absolutely no practical way for him to mate Steve.

 _Motherfucker_ , he thought.  Evolution hadn't counted on this.  He already had Steve's wrists pinned and was already biting the back of his neck, was already on top of him, and if he'd been able to form a coherent thought, he might have recognized that the floor of a HYDRA bunker wasn't a great place to be doing this, but he wasn't at all reasonable enough to form such a thought, not while he was biting into Steve's neck and trying to figure out a way to rut into him.

The man who'd darted him had staggered up and was hopping off, one hand on the wall for support.  "Good-bye, Captain Rogers. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon... very, very soon..." he called mockingly.

"F-fuck..." Steve saw stars as Tony's teeth sank into his neck. His whole body was singing. He felt like he was on fire, an echo of their past mating but perhaps even more intense. He shuddered against him, squirming under his grip a little to test it but the Iron Man grip kept him down. A shiver trembled down his spine. "Tony. Tony he's-" _getting away_. The words wouldn't come out. Steve shifted and felt how wet he was beneath the uniform. Shit.

A spasm racked through Steve was the his metabolism fought against the stimulation. He cried out and convulsed, trembling in Tony's grip. He gasped. The pain receded as quickly as it came and arousal was in its place again. The guy said ten minutes, but maybe he was lying. And how would he even really know for sure? And even if the 'heat' faded down wouldn't they both still be left awkwardly frustrated?

"Tony. Tony... we've go to..." Steve trailed off. He had no words. His body was thrumming with need, calling out to Tony. His uniform was too heavy and hot but his hands weren't free to do anything about it. And Tony was stuck in his suit. This was far from ideal. The suit itself was heavy on top of Steve, the edges of it digging into him in places. This was not good.

But Tony biting into his neck and holding his wrists down, that _was_.

"Please-" Steve gasped out, squirming beneath him. "Tony. G-get us out of here."

Tony heard his name and the tone of desperation in his omega's voice, but that was it.  He couldn't process the meaning of the words. He only knew Steve was begging and he knew what for, and he felt frustrated that he couldn't give it to him.

His grip tightened and he pressed down into Steve, his metal fingers digging into Steve's wrists, his teeth fitting perfectly into the bonding-mark that he'd worn into Steve's neck.

Tony wasn't an Alpha like Rhodey was.  Rhodey could casually speak to omegas in pre-heat or post-heat and barely even bat an eye.  But Tony had always been hedonistic and used to indulging himself and the taste of Steve's skin... being so close to him...

Tony didn't care anymore if Steve killed or tortured people.  He didn't care if SHIELD was the very sort of agency he'd denounced merely two years ago, the kind the operated without accountability.  (Yes, he'd figured it out. The reason they sent only four agents in the middle of the night... plausible deniability. They were operating in a  country not technically within the United States' jurisdiction and presumably without anyone's actual approval.)

No, none of that mattered now.  The world had shrunk to Steve, who Tony could tell was aroused; he's kneed apart Steve's legs but it was useless motion and he felt trapped in the goddamn armor; he was seriously considering trying to just tear it off himself, but he didn't want to let go of Steve's wrists or neck...

"Rogers?  Stark? Hello?  ...we're coming back," said Natasha's voice over the comm.  Tony ignored her; he was nuzzling against his mate, trying to reassure him that he'd find a solution to this problem.

He'd thought it was bad before, the first time he'd experienced Steve's heat.  And that was on the other side of a door, with two of his friends talking him through it... that was back before they'd been bonded... lying with his face pressed into the back of Steve's head, smelling him, touching him, _biting_ him, Tony was gone, lost in ecstasy in a way he'd previously thought was only obtainable through heavy drug use.

It was just him and Steve and the too-close, tantalizing promise of what was Tony's to take if only he could figure out _how._

Steve whimpered through gritted teeth; it fucking _burned_ as his body worked through the inducer. Another spasm and Steve jolted, falling down onto the ground as his knees gave way beneath him. The pain went away again but lingered achingly in his belly. It made him feel sick. He was so confused between pleasure and pain, his body dancing between the two.

If Natasha and Sam came back Tony might kill them. Tony had dropped those guards so easily, after all; he was still in the suit, still dangerous. And Natasha, at least, didn't have the best of armor. She chose speed and dexterity over defense. The jolts of pain were helping to keep Steve sane, or a little more sane than Tony. He just kept reminding himself that this should last ten minutes, and then it would be over. But would it last ten minutes for Tony? Would it go away?

Steve's body shuddered him, his forehead clammy against the floor. "T-Tony..." he gasped out. "Please. I just need something inside of me. _Please_ Tony."

Tony let out a half-growl, half-whine. _I know, I know, I know_ , he thought desperately.

"I'm here... it's okay, I'm here..." he mumbled into Steve's neck.  He let go of one wrist to reach down and find Steve's waistband, fumbling with his zipper.

 _"Stark_!"

Tony looked over.  Another Alpha. He growled.

Natasha stood in the long, empty hallway, the red alarm lights still flashing.  She was staring at them with a mixture of irritation and... something else.

Of course she could smell it, too.

"Shit."  Natasha held her hands up.  Her body language was, for once, submissive, small.  "...give me the shield," she said, voice slow and measured.  "Come on. We have to go. Give me the shield."

Tony's body was trembling a little, lip curled in a snarl.  Natasha was pressed against the wall, head ducked a little, eyes down, not looking directly at either Tony or Steve.  It was a strange tableau, the three of them, Tony lying on top of Steve, Steve wiggling beneath him, Natasha pressed against the wall, hunched.

Slowly, she brought a hand up to her ear.  "Wilson. They hit Steve with an inducer."

"Shit."

"Come on.  Grab your helmet, Stark.  Toss me the shield. We've got to go.  Right now." Her voice was low and gentle and calm and measured.

Tony realized what she was after.  The shield was one of the few things his repulsors couldn't penetrate.  She was trying to protect herself. Why? So then she could take Steve? So Tony would be unable to defend his omega against her?

The only thing preventing Tony from attacking her was that he was still on top of Steve, but his body was tense, ready for any sudden movements or aggressions.

Maybe she knew that, because Steve had literally never seen her so submissive.  She wasn't even making eye contact with either of them. "Please. Give me the shield.  I can get us out of here."

"T-Tony. Tony give it her," Steve wheezed out, half conscious as his body fought against the inducer again. He cried out and pressed his forehead against the cold floor, screwing his eyes shut. He trembled in pain and need. Tony wasn't listening to him, his gaze fixed on Natasha. He was ready to kill her; Steve could feel it. One of his hands was free so he reached down and grabbed his shield. With some effort he wrenched it out of its place and chucked it onto the floor. He didn't manage to throw it far.

Natasha cautiously darted forward, head still down as she grabbed the shield and then moved back to the wall. She held it in front of her, position defensive. "Sam? Have you got the bird out front?"

"Yeah, taking out a few stragglers. What are we gonna do? How is Cap?"

"You're unbonded. Tony will kill you," Natasha murmured into her comms unit. "You stay there.  I'm trying to talk to him but he's gone feral.  Stark? Can you even hear me? You need to get up. Steve isn't safe here. Your _mate_ isn't safe here. We need to leave."

"I'm parked outside the entrance." Sam told her over comms. "I'll stay outside."

"Tony." Steve panted. "Tony. Tony, please. Please...I need- oh, _fuck_. Let go of my other arm."

The only part that Tony heard of Natasha's words was that his mate wasn't safe.

Was she threatening him?

Well, fuck.

He got to his feet and scooped Steve into his arms.  The gesture was automatic. If he hadn't been wearing the suit, it probably would have been disastrous, but with the suit, it was easy to cradle him.

Natasha was edging down the hall; she picked up Tony's face plate.  Normally, Tony would have lost it at someone else touching it-- he was extremely protective of his suits-- but he didn't really care at the moment.  His world had shrunk to Steve. His priorities were getting him to safety and mating him. End of list.

He stomped down the hallway, carrying Steve, who was squirming a little, and Tony glanced down to murmur at him.  "I've got you," he reassured him.

"Sam, we're headed out, take to the sky.  You don't want to be anywhere near him right now," said Natasha into the comm.

Right.   _Her_.  Was she following them?  Tony eyed her suspiciously.

"I'm bonded.  I don't want him," she added, as if she could hear Tony's thoughts.

Then why was she here?

Tony stepped over the bodies of a couple of guards toward the nearest exit.  He'd come in through a ventilation shaft, but he slipped through a set of double doors onto a loading dock, which seemed faster.  The bay was empty except for a slick of oil on the concrete floor, and the door was open. Clearly, someone had just left. The base had been cleared in a hurry, and if Tony had thought about it, he would have known that this could only mean two things: that there was something very valuable worth protecting that had been there, and that there was probably some sort of self-destruction protocol in place.

But he wasn't thinking about evacuation.  He'd crossed the empty hanger in a split second, making for the woods that surrounded the bunker.

"Tony!  Wait!"

Her again?

Tony shift Steve in his arms and held up a hand, firing off a shot.  It glanced off the shield and hit the wall of the hangar they were in.

"Tony.  The chopper's this way."

Tony stared at her, dumbstruck.  Who the fuck cared where the chopper was or wasn't?  He took a second shot; she deflected it.

Natasha held up his face plate.  "You're not going to be able to hit me without your targeting system."

God damn it all, she was right.

She lobbed the face plate at him.  He managed to catch it without dropping Steve.  Stupid move on her part. Now he could dispose of her and take Steve all for himself!

He clicked it on; immediately the HUD was up, the targeting system, and--

"Hello, sir," said JARVIS pleasantly, unaware of what had transpired during the last few minutes.  He was bringing up everyone's stats, though, and Steve's were particularly interesting. His body temperature, always elevated, was elevated even more (39.3 C), along with his heart rate (115, which was high for Steve, whose resting heart rate was just under 40).  His blood pressure was up, too, and his breathing, and if Tony didn't know what was happening, he would have thought Steve had some sort of killer flu.

Except now that he was back in the helmet and Steve's smell was gone, Tony was, for the first time, consciously aware of what was happening.  That was what the uninhibited heat of his mate felt like, post-bonding.

 _"ARRGG!  Fuck!"_ yelled Tony.  Steve's smell had all but evaporated, thought Tony was aware, for the first time, of the taste of blood in his mouth from biting into Steve's neck.  Inside of the armor, there was a metallic, almost coppery scent combined with the VOC that a lot of people would probably associate with new cars. Tony had a lot of experience with that smell and in his opinion it was somewhere between a tennis ball and gunmetal just after firing.  It was incredibly grounding. It smelled nothing like an omega in heat.

It was like his brain had booted back up.

"Fuck!   _Fuck!_ " he repeated a few more times, just for good measure.

He didn't put Steve down.  Steve was breathing hard in his arms and was still shining with sweat and Tony didn't know how stable he'd be on his feet.

But he was also, for the first time, consciously aware that he didn't actually want to kill Natasha and also that a HYDRA base was a terrible place to try and fuck Steve's brains out.

"--Stark?  You feeling better?" asked Natasha hesitantly into her comm.  She was in their line of sight but she was still keeping her distance and had Steve's shield up, ready to duck behind in case Tony fired at her again.

" _Mother fucker_. _How is that not considered chemical warfare?_ "

"It is.  Inducers were banned by the Geneva Convention and they're illegal.  You want to see chaos? Throw a half-dozen omegas in heat onto a battlefield and watch a couple hundred Alphas go feral.  It's not pretty. Come on, let's move," said Natasha grimly.

"Romanov, I'm sor--"

"Save it, Stark."

"But--"

"I've gone feral on mission, it happens.  Forget it. Come on. If we don't take off before they get their surface-to-air missiles online, then we're not going to leave this island.  They're probably already opening the silos."

Tony felt a pang of gratitude.  Natasha was tough and scary but, in moments like these, he got a peek of her soft side.  If their positions were reversed, Tony doubted he'd let her live it down with this much grace.

"It feels like my insides on fire.  It feels like I'm dying," Steve said over comms, his voice strained. He was very much slumped in Tony's arms; there was no way he could have walked right now. But HYDRA didn't try and take him...

Probably because Tony was here.

If he'd gotten hit without Tony, would the HYDRA man have dragged him off?

He didn't want to think about it.

The suit was cold and Steve was grateful for it. It was helping to cool him down just a little. But he was still shivering from the head in Tony's arms and his whole body was still clammy. He was pretty sure that the heat was dying down now but Steve would still be left with slick ruined, pants. Not fun.

"Sam, we're headed to you. Tony's calmed down a bit. You need to stay in the cockpit; we don't want you smelling Steve."

The chopper was on the other side of the roof; Natasha grabbed a ladder that was unfurled for her, but Tony simply hit his repulsors and flew into the side.  The landing was hard; Steve still grunted a little in disapproval as they landed, his eyes only half open. He felt tired and ill and horny all that the same time and it wasn't a good combination.

Natasha slid the door closed after she'd board and slipped away to the front, straight into the cockpit, giving them privacy oh-so-subtly just in case they wanted any. Right now Steve just really wanted water and a bed. He felt like he was ready to sleep for about twelve hours.

Tony cradled him, noting with admiration how Natasha made some lame little excuse about checking the instrument panel so that they could be left alone.  Tony didn't dare take off his helmet. He was still erect and it was incredibly painful; he didn't want to know how much worse it could get. Smelling Steve directly like this... he wasn't sure he'd ever lost control like this, even under the influence of drugs.

Steve reached up shakily to touch the back of his neck, where Tony had bitten him; it was bleeding. It was nothing dangerous but it was a considerable amount. And it _hurt_. And would this fuck up Steve's actual cycle? They needed to call Gleason.

"Tony..." Steve pawed at his chest plate. "I need water. I need you. _Please_."

"It's okay, Steve, I got you," he said softly, grabbing a bottle of water from under the bench and thrusting it into Steve's hands.  "You're okay, I'm here, it's all over, mission's over... you're okay, baby..." He would have given anything to take the suit off, but it was an impossibility.  And besides, even if he could have, he didn't trust himself, not one bit. He knew he would have killed Natasha earlier if she hadn't had Steve's shield. He wouldn't have even thought twice about it.  His stomach twisted a little; he hoped that didn't end up on the mission report. He didn't want to look like some sort of crazy Alpha that lost his damn mind over an omega in heat. But this was different, this was his mate...

"Steve, I'm so sorry," he muttered.  "I'm sorry I... freaked out earlier, about... about the mission, I didn't realize it was gonna be like this... actually I did, come to think of it, SHIELD's simulations, I _did_ know, I just... it didn't click until I saw you doing your thing.  But I love you, Steve. I love you even if you're a leg-breaking psychopath, you're my omega and I want you to be happy and I think you're a damned incredible soldier."

Steve was weakly clawing at him.  Tony took his hand gently in his gauntlet and Steve, who was already shivering, shuddered harder at the touch of the cold metal.  "You're okay... just relax. Come on, relax. It's over, we're going home right now, we completely the mission and everything, you did great... drink that water... in a few hours we'll be home, okay?  Just a little while longer..."

The need for modular, self-assembling armor, thought Tony, was obviously greater than he realized.  His current armor was chafing his dick to hell. And he was completely fucking trapped. Although, he thought, in a way it was good... if he'd had the ability, he would have stripped naked and fucked Steve stupid right there on the floor of the HYDRA based.  He wondered if such a thing had ever happened to Natasha and Clint. They both seemed too cool for that to happen but of course, it had at least once, when they'd bonded. Losing control was an experience Tony had mixed feelings about. He lost control often, but generally it was on purpose.  A controlled sort of losing control. He'd never had his brain completely hijacked like that, not until Steve had entered his life with his sexy little omega smells. God damn.

Steve took the water bottle gratefully. He drank it. The water slid down his throat wonderfully. It was cool and smooth and he instantly felt better. He sighed in relief and dropped the empty and crumpled bottle onto the floor once it was empty, going back to pawing at Tony until he gently pried his hands away. If Steve had carried on he probably have hurt himself. He looked dazed still, even if he was cooler now. JARVIS was reading that his body temperature was far less alarming then before and Steve wasn't sweating anymore.

"I love you too," Steve wheezed, eyes slightly unfocused. "B-but I understand that that means you don't have to love everything I do. I'm not happy with e-everything that I do, Tony. I'm not always p-proud of it. I'm not saying it's okay, I just... I don't want you to be disgusted by me. Ever. It hurts too much. It feels so _bad_.  I wanna be _good_." His voice was whining and a little high pitched from the heat; his eyes were tearing up with emotion. He leaned his head against the suit's shoulder, eyes half drooping shut. Steve suddenly felt exhausted.

Tony brushed his fingers through Steve's hair, being as gentle as he could, considering he was in metal gloves.

Steve smiled faintly as metal digits brushed through his hair. It felt strange but he appreciated the sentiment behind the gesture. Dazedly, he reached up to trace his fingertips over the face plate, his thumb brushing over a metal cheek. He knew his Alpha was behind there. He could feel him. That was what a bond was. Reassurance. Trust. Security.

Tony placed his hand over Steve's as Steve touched his face plate.  "It's okay, Steve. I still love you, I still want you. War's messy.  I know that now. It's okay."

Then he cried out and curled in on himself, another wave running through him as his body fought against the inducer. "Fuck." He gasped, his abdomen burning with a cold sort of pain. Hopefully it would be over by the time they got home and Steve could just bathe and sleep. That was all he wanted. And sex, of course. But Steve didn't want to get pregnant.

Steve shuddered and Tony cringed.  Hearing Steve in pain was hell, and he couldn't even touch him with his actual fingertips.

"Can...can we work out a way to make me immune to this?" Steve huffed out.

"We're working on it, remember, Gleason said before Christmas..." Tony tried to reassure him.  He didn't add that he had doubts. What if Gleason came up empty? Steve was a singularity; everything about him was in direct violation of what nature said was normal.  Who knew if anything worked on him?

Tony supposed he could spend Steve's entire heat in his suit or maybe go hang out on his yacht, but he didn't want Steve to have to suffer through it alone, and that's what this was: suffering.  Tony had no idea heats were like this. Sure, he knew they were uncomfortable and omegas who didn't take suppressants took off work, but he'd always thought of it like a woman's period or a migraine headache, maybe.  Not like this.

Tony was angry at himself for letting the asshole who did this get away.  He should have gone after him and killed him, or taken him alive, but instead, he'd let him go, too busy dry-humping Steve on the floor like an animal.

Steve was getting blood all over everything.  Tony hadn't realized how hard he'd been biting down.  This bite was nothing like the gentle mating bite he'd made when they'd bonded.  This was real, savage. Tony couldn't stop staring at it. He'd thought only morons went feral, and assumed that his intelligence made him immune to it.  Apparently not.

"We're gonna be home soon, Steve, just a couple of hours, okay?  You're gonna be find," murmured Tony, holding him. This, at least, was the one thing he _could_ do in the suit.  Steve was curling up into him.  "Nat, how much longer?" he whined into the comm.

"Four hours.  Try to get some sleep," she replied back.  "After you go feral, you always get a massive headache."

"How many times--"

"A few."

Tony considered this.  He wasn't even really sure how the hell she and Clint worked (what did female Alphas do, exactly?) but thought it would be tasteless to ask.  But he felt reassured that this was at least a little normal, his reaction. And she was right about the headache. He could already feel it beginning to bloom just behind his eyes.

* * *

He rubbed his eyes, trying to quell his headache.

The girl held out a paper cup to him.  "Coffee helps headaches," she said.

He stared at her, confused about why she was trying to help him.  He glanced over at Karpov, but Karpov was busy. They were in a hotel room in a small town by the sea and Karpov had been arguing on the phone with someone for several minutes.

"--I can put them on a plane to Miami but you know no one will escort them, and unless you arrange for passports, we're stuck on this godforsaken island," he was saying.  "I'm not leaving the asset. --well, can you just pick up the documents? ...no, I'm not giving them to the twins, are you stupid or something?" He sounded angry.

The soldier looked back at the girl.  She was still holding out the cup.

On the bed, the omega was lying on his stomach, one fist pressed into his cheek, flipping through the television channels lazily.  "It's true. Coffee helps," he reported.

Hesitantly, the soldier took the cup.  He hadn't eaten for at least a day and he was hungry.  He sipped the coffee; it was rich and warm. The twins seemed to be having fun in the hotel room; Karpov seemed enraged that he'd ended up stuck with them.  He didn't mind. The girl scared him, but the omega was interesting. The way he was lying on his front, his shaggy blond hair... it hit some chord in his mind, something so close yet also just out of reach.  Someone else he'd known, an omega, used to lie like that, on his front.

_A memory._

_Steve, lying on the bed, on his stomach, arms crossed in front of him, head using them as a pillow. He climbed onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around Steve's skinny frame, and Steve's body had arched into him, and he kissed the back of his neck.  They'd never had a heat together. It had been a year. And he was starting to think that it wouldn't happen, and he felt only relief, because if Steve did have one, how would he control himself, then?_

_He snuggled into the bed, wrapping his arms around Steve, closing his eyes.  Steve arched into him again, nuzzled his cheek, touched his arms lightly. Tried to get a response.  He didn't react and Steve's disappointed was palpable; he could practically hear his mate asking why he wasn't good enough and he didn't know how to tell him how scared he was of hurting him.  He pretended to be asleep when he heard Steve sniffle, and Steve pretended to sleep after a while too, and the two of them lay there spooning, awake for a long time, the chasm between them deep and loud and empty._

The soldier rubbed his eyes again.  He checked his pocket to make sure he still had the picture of Captain America.  He did. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he didn't know why but he felt excited and even though the memory had been sad, there was also a bittersweet association.  The idea of curling up with another person and holding them was... nice. The idea of another person pressing their warmth into him was tantalizing, as tantalizing as the cup of coffee in his hand.

It had gone cold.  He looked down at it and suddenly no longer wanted it at all.

He went to toss it out before Karpov got mad at him for taking it in the first place.


	13. Cigar Run: Post-Mission

After another half an hour of whimpering and whining and squirming in Tony's hold in confusion, arousal, and discomfort, Steve managed to sleep. The exhaustion over took him and he passed out in Tony's arms, head tucked against the cool crook of the suit's shoulder. It was surprisingly comfortable and the padding in Steve's armor certainly helped.

Natasha called Dr. Gleason ahead of time to be at their house so he could patch up Steve's neck. They needed someone to check over both Steve and Tony and it certainly couldn't be either her or Sam right now.  Gleason sounded quite alarmed when Natasha told him Steve had had an included heat in a fight and a bad bite mark that needed tending to; getting an early-morning call of that sort probably would have alarmed any doctor.

Tony clung to Steve the whole ride over.  By the time he spotted the Pacific, it was just past noon and he was starving.  Sitting on the bench of the chopper with Steve curled in his lap, he passed the time by playing pong with JARVIS inside of his helmet.

Steve woke up as the helicopter landed in Tony's front yard. He felt dizzy and a little sick but he was no longer in any sort of heat. He was in the aftermath. His neck burned with a dull sort of pain, and his insides felt sore, as did the dart wound on his leg. Natasha, not smelling any danger, stepped into the door way just as Steve looked up.

"I called for your doctor. He's waiting inside," she said softly. "Let me know how it goes. I know this isn't fun Steve. Let's just be thankful it lasted a few hours and not a week."

Tony could have kissed her when she said she'd already called Gleason. Tony didn't know him well, but he'd been by a few times and Tony had at least a sense of familiarity with him.  Not quite trust-- he was too protective of Steve for that-- but something like it.

"Hours?" repeated Steve groggily.  His had lasted less than that.  Steve had a feeling that's what must have happened when they did it to Clint (if anyone ever had. They probably had.) He imagined it wasn't fun. The heat the inducer created was a painful one, not the sweet and tender kind.

"I'll let you know how valuable the intel ends up being," Natasha added. "But least we're giving them the chase now, not the other way around. If we achieved nothing else you certainly proved that you're something to be reckoned with."

"We had to have gotten _something_ ," said Tony.  "...you downloaded like half a hard drive." 

Something warmed in Steve's chest. Her approval meant a lot to him.

"I'd die before I'd let them take me," he whispered and Natasha nodded sombrely.

"I know." She straightened up a little. "Now come on, you two get your asses in there. You both need to rest."

Stiffly, Tony climbed to his feet. "Can I set you down, Steve?"

Steve was looking a lot worse for the wear.  His neck and the back of his shirt was caked with dried blood, and his wrists had bruised up from where Tony had gripped him.  His uniform was filthy and even though he'd gotten a long nap, there were bags under his eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah. I can walk," Steve nodded but he wobbled a little when he was set down. He gripped Tony's metal arm tightly, nails digging into metal. The leg that had been hit by the dart throbbed especially. The whole of his body just felt achy, like Steve was coming out the other side of a bad flu, or something. "Thanks Nat. And tell Sam too. Keep us updated."

Tony set him down gingerly and, with a moment's hesitation, pulled off his face plate so they were face-to-face.

Steve still smelled incredible but it wasn't the same intoxicating, mind-numbing scent as before.

"Romanov, about shooting at you--"

"I said forget it," said Natasha.

Tony offered Steve his arm and the two of them clamored off the chopper.

It felt hard to believe that, hours ago, they'd been in an underground bunker, getting shot at.  Tony's estate was unchanged, the palm trees swaying idly and the peacocks and flamingos picked their way across the lawn.  In front of the house, there was a circular drive, and Tony spotted a silver sedan, a Lexus, that could only be Gleason's. (Tony consider the Lexus to be the poor man's Audi and refused to have one in his garage.)  There was also a light blue Prius and Tony winced a little. That would be Pepper, and he was guessing her reaction to their appearances wasn't going to be a delighted one.

"I'm going to go downstairs to take the suit off," said Tony as they walked toward the front door.  "You go see the doctor, I'll meet you in five. Ask Pepper to make me some espresso, I'm getting this crazy headache.  You know caffeine's supposed to help headaches?"

"Got it," Steve hummed, still determined to function.  They'd been gone about twelve hours, that was all, but it felt like longer. He was relieved as soon as they stepped inside the house. Steve instantly felt safer. "Don't be too long," he told him and kissed Tony's (well, the suit's) forehead before he pulled away into the kitchen, where he could hear Gleason and Pepper talking.

Pepper's eyes widened when she saw him. Gleason looked significantly calmer, having already had the low down from Natasha. "Who on earth happened to you?" Pepper demanded, eyes wide. Gleason was already standing up, accessing Steve quickly.

Steve winced when he realised the answer. "Tony...sort of. It's complicated."

"This isn't the worst bite I've ever seen," said Dr. Gleason, tilting Steve's head back and forth gently.  "...normally it's younger Alphas that cause the most damage. I suppose he's got a lot of time to make up for, eh?"  He smiled a little and began pulling out gloves and wipes to clean off the back of Steve's neck.

Pepper was still staring, wide-eyed.  "He did that with his _teeth_?"

"Induced heats are a lot rougher than natural ones," said Dr. Gleason, gently wiping the dried blood from Steve's skin.  He frowned a little. "It probably didn't help that you crammed five days' worth of hormones into the space of a few hours.  How are you feeling? Aside from exhausted."

"Like I've done a lot of sit ups," Steve said, not even wincing as Gleason pulled the wet cloth over his neck again and again to get it clean. He kept his gaze fixed on the wall ahead, ignoring the pain best he could.

Dr. Gleason had almost finished cleaning off Steve's neck ("I don't think this needs stitches," he reported) when there was a bang from the other room, the bang of a door slamming, and a moment later, Tony skidded in.  He'd thrown on a pair of jeans from the shop and was holding a robe for Steve. He offered it to him, looking anxious about what he'd missed.

"Pepper, turn around so Steve can get dressed," he demanded.

"You're kidding me."

"I'm not kidding.  Steve has delicate sensibilities and he likes having his privacy respected."

"Tony, half the time I come over, you're naked."

"Yes, but Steve is--"  Tony considered. "--Steve," he finished.

Pepper sighed and rolled her eyes, but turned her seat around, her back to them.  Tony knelt and began unlacing Steve's boots for him, a look of concentration etched on to his face.  Dr. Gleason caught Steve's eye and, with his gaze, looked down at Tony, and back up at Steve, smiling.

"How bad is it?  Give it to me straight," said Tony, concentrating on helping Steve out of his uniform.

Steve couldn't help but return the doctor's smile as Tony's fussing. Honestly, at that point, Steve didn't really care who saw what. But it was sweet that Tony did. He took the robe gratefully before Tony bent down to get started on his shoes.

"Oh, not bad.  Not too bad at all.  No lasting damage, I don't think.  I'd like to see where they hit you with the inducer.  Injection sites can get inflamed pretty badly. Personally, I never recommend inducing heats, even to time pregnancies.  Just too much stress on the body."

"We didn't mate," said Tony.  "I was in a suit of armor."

Pepper snorted softly.

"Oh, you think it's funny?  Try having an erection inside of a fucking metal box and see how funny it is."

"That's certainly one way to avoid pregnancy," said Dr. Gleason.

"It was hell.  Didn't you say you'd come up with a... a preventative method for us?  It's nearly fall. Is Steve still going to cycle normally?" asked Tony.

"I think he can still expect to have a natural heat in December or January, yes," said Dr. Gleason.  Tony cringed noticeably. So far, heats had caused the two of them nothing but trouble. He wasn't really looking forward to one.  Especially if they had no way to protect themselves against any unwanted... accidents. He was all too aware that Gleason was concentrating on taking Steve's blood pressure and hadn't yet answered his question about contraceptives.

Tony rubbed his eyes, trying to get the searing headache behind them to go away.

"Do you think you'll have something by December?" Steve asked tentatively, feeling Tony's concern pang in his own chest. The doctor looked up at him over his glasses. Gleason was around Tony's height, so he had to look up a little to meet Steve's gaze.

"I'm...working on something. But I can't promise you results, Captain; you're one of a kind. The only way to find out if it works is to... do it, or take it. So to speak. SHIELD actually approached me, offered me resources to find a solution."

Steve sent Tony a bemused look. "That's... nice of them."

Tony pulled the robe over Steve's shoulders as Gleason patched up his neck with a small plaster. After that they moved to a sofa, Gleason poking at the pink little dot on his leg where the dart had gone in.

Pepper walked over and pushed a coffee into Tony's hand wordlessly.

Dr. Gleason cleared his throat as he finished rubbing the salve onto the small wound, glancing at Tony up and down. "Would you like me to check your over Mr. Stark? After being... 'trapped' in that 'metal box?'"

Tony sputtered into his coffee and blinked.  "I think I'm probably fine. The suit absorbs most of the impact."  He hesitated, then added, almost defensively, "I'm not an omega."

"Omegas are my specialty.  That doesn't mean I can't treat an Alpha," said Gleason.

"Tony doesn't like doctors," said Pepper succinctly.  "He's dislocated his right shoulder about six times, and every time, he insists on popping it back in himself."

Gleason cringed noticeably.  "That's not safe."

Tony glared at Pepper with a look that clearly said, _Traitor_.  "I'm fine.  Really."

"He never sees the doctor. The first time he replaced the arc reactor, he made me reach into his chest and do it myself," reported Pepper.

Tony winced.  "I just... I don't like... fine.  Check me over. Don't touch my chest," said Tony tersely, flopping onto the couch.  His body was already tensing. It was hard enough letting someone probe his mate; letting himself get checked out was worse.  Tony hadn't seen a doctor himself in two years. The closest he'd come to a routine physical was SHIELD's evaluation.

Dr. Gleason shined a pen light in his eyes.  "Lots of people don't like doctors. My mate hates them, too, and he's married to one," he said, a note of amusement in his voice.

"I'm perfectly healthy," said Tony.  "I've got the physique of a twenty-eight year old."

Pepper scoffed a little.  "Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration.  ...he drinks, too," she added.

"Oh my God, shut _up_ , Pepper--"

"How much would you say you drink?" asked Gleason.

"One or two drinks a night," said Tony.

"A couple of glasses a night isn't especially--"

"He means bottles," interrupted Pepper.

"...ah," said Gleason.  He paused at the back of Tony's neck.  Tony's whole body was noticeably stiff.  Gleason had the grace not to ask about the mark and he moved on, poking Tony's ribs.  Tony squirmed a little and snorted. Pepper looked at him incredulously.

"Are you ticklish?"

"N-no," sniggered Tony, shoving Gleason's hand away.  He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.  "Pepper, turn around, I'm pulling out my dick."

"Oh, like I've never seen _that_ before," said Pepper, turning.  Her back to them, she addressed Steve.  "I spoke with Aria yesterday about that gala you two wanted to host for your charity.  We've got six different catering options lined up. As long as you two choose before the end of the year, we could have it off the ground by February."

"Thank you Pepper," Steve breathed, not honestly knowing how she could possibly have the time to talk with Aria and plan with her on top of everything else she did. But he was grateful, beyond a doubt. He watched Gleason check over Tony with a sense of relief. He did worry about his Alpha an awful lot, especially on his bad days, when he'd been drinking in the workshop alone and fell into bed at five. Steve knew it was Tony's drive, that he had to do it. But it still worried him all the same.

"Have you ever had a prostate exam?" asked Dr. Gleason.

"Nope," said Tony.

"When was your last flu shot?"

"I have literally never gotten one of those."

"I told you, he hates doctors," said Pepper.  "He came back from Afghanistan with, what, eight cracked ribs--"

"Nine," said Tony, almost proudly.

"--and he made us go to _Burger King_ instead of the hospital."

"Hospitals don't have onion rings," said Tony defensively.

Gleason frowned.  Tony let out a half-whine and half-growl as he reached between his legs.  "Okay, okay, I'm good, right? We're good? ...can we go bone now?" Despite his protests, Tony had to admit, he preferred having Gleason look him over than some jerk from SHIELD.  He sort of knew Gleason, and he and Steve got along well, and Gleason also had Pepper's blessing. Gleason was about as close as Tony would ever come to actually liking a doctor.

"Tony!" Steve huffed and leaned his head back, heeks tinging a little pink at the question. He couldn't disagree. Sure, the heat was over but that was definitely what Steve wanted to go and do. It had left him feeling frustrated and unsatisfied, especially after that man had gotten away. But he didn't want to admit it out loud, especially in front of their doctor.

Gleason's eyes flickered up to Tony's face with amusement. "Please, just use protection. Heats, even induced ones, will cause a spike in fertility."  He rose. "We'll talk about the drinking another time. But considering previous issues with blood toxicity-" Said information had clearly come from Pepper. -"we should keep an eye on that."  He looked to Steve.  "Keep the wound cleaned. Tomorrow you'll want to undress it and give it some air.  With your metabolism it should be healed by the end of the week." He turned back around to face Tony and pointed at him. "No biting it till then, okay? Else you'll risk infection."

"Thank you doctor," Steve stood and shook his hand. He didn't even wobble. He looked far better out of his uniform and no longer covered in blood.

"I'll get back to you before December," Gleason promised. He offered a small wave and then he was off, seeing himself out of the door.

Pepper sighed quietly, looking between both of them. "What am I going to do with you two?"

Tony grinned at her.  "...be the godmother to our children probably," he said jokingly.  "Naw, I'm kidding, no kids. We'll use protection. Speaking of which..."  He reached out to pat Steve's leg. "If you'll excuse me, I have an omega to satisfy."

"I don't need to know that," said Pepper.

"You're welcome to join us."

"I'll pass, thanks."  Pepper, as usual, was completely unfazed by Tony's flirting.  She rose, her attention already drawn to her Blackberry.

"Hey, Pep?  ...seriously, thanks for running the company.  And the charity. And basically everything."

"You can thank me by taking care of yourself."

Tony made a face.  He rose, and made to scoop Steve up, but realized almost immediately that he couldn't.  After a moment, he said, "Er, I guess you can walk now on your own."

Pepper rolled her eyes.  Tony was tugging on Steve's hand insistently.  Now that Gleason was gone and he wasn't being prodded, his anxiety had faded.  He was in his own home, safe and with the two people in the world he trusted most, and Steve was okay, and everything was going to be fine.

At least it seemed it would be.  Until December rolled around.

He caught a glimpse of Steve's neck and felt a flutter of worry.  He'd bitten in deep. He hadn't even realized how much damage he was doing; it was instinct.  Did omegas like that? He reached up to ruffle the hair on the back of his own neck; it had spiked a little when Gleason had touched him there.  It was weird how different their instincts were. The way Steve had arched into Tony automatically, eager, when Tony bit down...

He tugged Steve insistently toward the bedroom.  "You need to talk to SHIELD about getting some sort of antidote or something," he said sternly, peeling Steve's robe off.  "Can you imagine if I'd been able to pull the suit off and ended up knotting you on the floor? We would have been fucked. Pun absolutely intended."  He ran his fingers over Steve's face, grateful that now they weren't in uniform, that they were just Tony and Steve again. He studied Steve's face for the aggressive soldier that had been there before, but it had evaporated.  Tony couldn't believe they were the same person. He leaned forward to brush his lips against Steve's. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry I questioned you. I'm sorry I got upset. My Captain America, the one from the comics and stuff when I was a kid... he wasn't like that."  Tony looked down, running his hands down Steve's sides. "...I guess that's just another way they try to polish war up, make it seem less bad. I should know by now how it really is." He glanced up. "We're fighting the good fight, though, right?" He needed Steve's assurance.  Needed to know that, this time, the weapons he built and used were pointing humanity in the right direction. Tony trusted his mate to tell him the truth. He didn't trust SHIELD; he trusted Steve. Big difference. He had already gotten the impression that Fury was someone who cared a lot more about results than about methods, but Tony had forsaken that luxury years ago.  He was responsible for enough fallout, enough collateral damage and civilian causalities to last him a lifetime.

He wanted a quick reassurance so that he could compartmentalize the look on Steve's face when Steve had said he had no mercy.  He was already forcing himself to forget about Lab 9. He was trusting Steve would do the same and they could just fuck instead of talking about it.  There was no room for Bucky in their lives, but the way Steve sometimes talked about him made Tony's skin crawl.

"I'll probably just have to build up a resistance to it the old fashioned way. I'll talk to them about it." Steve said quietly. It had honestly been humiliating. He'd wanted to come back in fighting, prove HYDRA all wrong. Wrong for assuming he was an Alpha, wrong for assuming they could take him away, and wrong for assuming he wouldn't come after him. Steve had wanted to be appear _strong_ , he'd wanted to be a _warning_. He'd wanted to intimidate them...but in the end they had humiliated him. One of them had got away because of Steve's very nature being a weakness to him and he almost hated himself for it. It created a doubt in the back of his mind. Maybe people were right when they said that omegas don't make good soldiers? Now they had this kind of chemical warfare... unless Steve could find a solution, how the hell would he stand a chance in a fight? One prick and they could have him on the floor, convulsing with a fever. It wasn't a comforting thought.

Steve moved to run a hand down Tony's arm before threading their fingers together. "Tony," he murmured and blue eyes flickered up to meet brown. "You saw that place. You saw that chair. They had militant scientists who were willing to kill themselves for a cause. We saw that, that's _real_ . SHIELD's far from perfect, but they're just...shady, if you like. HYDRA's something else; they're just plain evil. SHIELD helps get rid of HYDRA. It's not really a contest...I mean, we won't always be doing _good_ things." The day's events had already made that evident. "But I like to believe we're fighting the 'good fight.' I was before, and that was against HYDRA. I have to trust that sometimes history repeats itself. This feels like the right thing."

He leaned forward to nudge his nose against Tony's. Steve's expression was tender, his eyes flitting down in the appropriate gesture. The man who had been flooring two men in one kick and breaking jaws with his shield was gone. "I never want HYDRA to see me like that again," Steve whispered. "Only _you_ get to see me like that."

"Only me," repeated Tony in affirmation, brushing his fingers through Steve's hair.  He tugged Steve gently toward the bed and pushed him down on to it, crawling after him, on top of him.

Steve was right.  If Lab 9 had proved anything, it was that HYDRA was the one that lacked boundaries, not SHIELD. They used chemical weapons and experimented on living people.  SHIELD wasn't without its problems, but it had principles. Case in point: they'd appointed an omega as captain of the Avengers Initiative. HYDRA couldn't be reasoned with, so it had to be eliminated.  Sometimes it would get messy, yeah. But Tony felt that Steve's judgement was better than his and... well, if Steve thought it was okay...

He nuzzled a kiss onto Steve's lips, his hands running over Steve's body lovingly.  He hadn't forgotten Gleason's warning about using protection; the condoms were on the bedside table.  Tony was hungry and his head was pounding, but he didn't care about that. He just wanted to pleasure his omega and then go to bed for twelve hours.  The events in that bunker had taken a lot out of him. Hell, he was even considering taking up smoking again.

* * *

The brand was Prolot.  They were better than 727s but not by much.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, leaning over the railing and staring out onto the sea.  Every time he inhaled smoke, the back of his neck prickled a little. He kept rubbing it, not sure why it was doing that.

He and Karpov were having one of their rare heart-to-hearts.

"Strucker saw him, you know.  He was under his Alpha, begging for relief, like a whore.  History, soldier, is written with hindsight. Right now, they think he's the hero.  But give it ten years. In ten years, he'll have learned his place. He'll be a broodmare, nothing more.  And you and I, we will be the heroes. He's a modern-day Icarus. You know Icarus?"

Sure, he knew Icarus.  An uppity omega of legend who'd gotten idea above his station and flown too close to the sun.  A cautionary tale. He nodded, and Karpov continued his lecture.

"Heroes are men who sacrifice.  You and I, we've made sacrifices.  You know, it's not as if I didn't want a wife, when I was a younger man.  Perhaps children. But I gave that up for this--" He gestured broadly. "--for HYDRA, for what I believe in.  It will be a perfect world, someday. No one will be unhappy. Have you been unhappy, since we trained you?"

He considered, then shook his head.  No, he hadn't been happy or unhappy. He hadn't been anything, really.

"No, of course not.  You're better off now than you were when we found you."  Karpov blew a smoke ring. "Myself... I'm bonded to my work.  To you. No program is perfect, of course, but you... you're as close as it gets."  He gave him a sideways look, then reached out to touch his cheek.

The soldier stared at him blankly.

"...if he truly loved you, he would have come for you.  Nearly thirty years I've been your handler. And he hasn't come for you yet, has he?"

"The omega?" asked the soldier.

"Yes."

The soldier felt a pang in his chest, mixed with a strange new emotion.  It took him a moment to realize it was defensiveness.

"No program is perfect," he repeated back to Karpov.  Karpov laughed and withdrew his hand. The soldier closed his eyes, thinking.  Remembering. "I didn't always do right by him, either. I tried. I made mistakes.  We were too poor for an orchid, so I got him tulips instead. The dame I asked, she said tulips were for forgiveness, and that's what I wanted.  Because I hurt him. Every day I hurt him. That's why he didn't come for me."

It was the most the soldier had said in over a year.

Karpov was staring at him, his expression a mixture of frustration and sadness.  He heaved a sigh and clapped a hand on the soldier's shoulder. "You see the difference between him and I?  I always forgive you. I always give you a second chance."

The soldier gave a small, brisk nod of thanks.

"You don't need an omega's forgiveness.  He's nothing. Just another little Icarus waiting for the sun to drop him back down to earth.  If it weren't for Stark, we likely would have already captured him."

Stark.  That name again. He was starting to realize nothing good ever came out of it.  "Stark" was the man who put his hand on Steve's back and hit on girls at nightclubs and spent too much money.  "Stark" had been one of his targets, an older man, clearly someone evil or else they wouldn't have told him to go get him.  "Stark" was the name on the missiles that had ruined the lives of the twins. And now "Stark" was the person who was coming between him and the blond omega.  He was unclear whether there were four Starks or one Stark but it didn't matter. The name had long since begun to hold very negative connotations for him.

"He's too good for Stark," he said, left fist clenching.

Karpov smiled at him.  "Yes, that's right," he agreed, and he gave the soldier the rest of the Prolots as a reward.

* * *

Steve's wrists were still pink and purple from the suit, but they would be faded to a pale yellow by morning and by evening the next day they would be gone. Steve didn't even notice it though. They didn't hurt. The only thing that really did was his neck, and considering how many men Steve had taken out he was amazingly unharmed.

He reached out for the box of condoms and chucked them onto the bed in a silent reminder. Steve shivered at Tony's touch, arcing his head back a little, but then he winced. "Can we, ah, change positions? My neck against the sheets doesn't feel so hot."

So Steve sat up, as did Tony, and they were a mess of tangled limbs as they kissed. He threaded his fingers through the engineer's hair and scratched at his scalp lightly, smiling when it drew out a shudder.

Tony didn't have a scratch on him but Steve knew that fights weren't that simple. Tony had killed people, and was frustrated and pained by Steve's heat. He didn't know how the other would cope with it; Steve knew he'd killed people before in the suit, but as far as he knew that was when he was escaping a cave of his torturers, not invading a secret lab. Steve hoped he would be okay.  Now wasn't the time it ask.  The two of them needed distance, time to process, and currently both were in silent agreement that they'd rather fuck than talk.

Tony sat up with Steve and wrapped his legs around the other's waist, kissing him languidly.  He wanted to forget the bunker for a while. Forget Lab 9, forget that omega that seemed to flick in and out of existence, forget the men both he and Steve had killed.

He didn't know how much was going to come out in the mission report.  He'd already noted that there was a sort of personal code among the group, one that made them occasionally massage their reports to protect each other.  He didn't know whether he was yet considered enough a part of the group to fall under that protection. He was embarrassed by the loss of control, but felt that maybe he'd be protected along with Steve.  Would they tell Fury about Steve being hit with an inducer? Would they downplay his and Steve's reactions? And would Fury, in turn, tell anyone else from SHIELD or the WSC? He was silently hoping that Natasha would have mercy.  She'd seemed understanding enough. Though, with her, it could be hard to tell.

And information... that had been the whole point of the mission in the first place.  Natasha had gotten something but they didn't know what yet. Tony was hoping it was enough to make it all worth it.  If not, then they'd murdered over a dozen people for no reason whatsoever. And now that they'd gone on the offensive, HYDRA was probably going to beef up security, making any future missions a hell of a lot harder.

Tony drew away to study Steve's face.  His blue eyes were guileless. His hair, normally swept back, had wilting over his forehead from his sweating.  Tony delicately traced the bow of his lips.

In the old Captain America comics, they'd never shown Steve as either weak and vulnerable and emotionally open, nor as violent and aggressive.  Steve was simply a mascot. He won wars by leading men into enemy territory, punching a few guys, giving a patriotic speech, and then posing in front of a flapping American flag.  Tony felt a bit disillusioned.

"You're still my mate.  I still care about you," he said quietly.  He leaned forward and nuzzled Steve's nose.  "...sometimes I need space. Sometimes I need time to process.  Seeing you... like that. It was hard. But I'll always get over it.  I'm good at getting over stuff. I just need space sometimes. ...you get that, right?"

He brushed their lips together and then reached for the box of condoms.

In all likelihood, if Steve had not been hit with an inducer, it would have taken Tony two or three days in the shop to process what he'd seen.  But the rush of hormones had scrambled his moral compass and he felt like they were bonding all over again and he cared a lot more about mating Steve than about worrying about how he acted in battle.  Tony was learning, with some annoyance, that he was a lot less rational than he'd always assumed, and that his instincts-- the ones he'd been denying for decades-- were overbearing in the right circumstances.

 _Not that that's a bad thing,_ he thought as he tore open a foil packet and rolled a condom down over his erection.

"I get you needing space. Even if the whole concept of 'space' is a little weird to me," Steve said quietly. In the forties they hadn't had the luxury of 'space.' Space was something rich people enjoyed, but they couldn't. Space was something him and Bucky could never have afforded. They could not get away from each other; when Bucky needed space, he'd often leave to go to an all-Alpha bar.  But even when Bucky was out and Steve was alone, he could still here the neighbours shuffling around. The old woman, Tilly, was always baking cakes and drinking sherry and the young couple above them were always at it. Steve pretended that he thought it was gross but really he envied them.

God, he'd been so sexually frustrated.

He couldn't really understand that now. It felt so... distant. Especially with Tony, his mate, ready and hard in front of him. Steve swallowed thickly at the sight. "I just wanna be good for you," he whispered with heavy lidded eyes. Steve licked his lips then leaned forward to nip at Tony's own, which were parted just perfectly.

Steve pushed himself up onto his knees and then sank down onto Tony in one smooth motion, his entrance ready and wet as he took him in. He sighed in relief. After all, his body had been aching for it. "Fuck," he whispered and tilted his head black. "That's perfect."

Tony let out a breathy moan when Steve pushed himself down over his cock.  "You are good," he murmured, putting his hands on Steve's hips. He ran his hands over his sides briefly before he began moving him.  They found each other's rhythm in an instant, their bodies in tune, knowing what they wanted and how to get it. Tony closed his eyes, moaning blissfully at the way Steve's body milked his knot, massaging it, the warmth and pressure from his omega creating just the right amount of friction and smoothness. 

Steve gasped sweetly as Tony's knot stretched him, his eyes rolling back as he sank down on it. He trembled against his Alpha and moved in tandem with him, his thighs quivering a little as he rocked down onto his cock. It was from all the kicking and pushing off of walls; his body was actually _tired_ , which was a rarity for Steve. But this sort of lazy but heady sex was perfect.

Tony was loud in bed, just like he was loud in everything; he let Steve know what he liked, which all of it, every little bounce and wiggle and thrust. Their naked bodies pressed into each other and wriggled together and within a minute every one of Tony's muscles was tense with a suppressed orgasm. He found Steve's lips and pressed into them and the moment his tongue had found the familiar taste of Steve's mouth he was pulling his omega down over his cock and pumping his seed into him with a wail of Steve's name, one loud enough to make the maid watering the orchids downstairs blush bright red.

Steve shuddered as Tony licked into his mouth then came inside of him, almost suddenly. The sensation of being filled was enough to drive Steve over the edge. He rode out his orgasm with a high-pitched cry, his head thrown back, as Tony's hands squeezed at his waist and Steve's insides squeezed at his Alpha's cock. Even with the condom on it felt so _good_. "F-fuck..." he panted, eyes rolling back as he rocked his hips, riding his orgasm out lazily. "Tony... oh, _Tony_..."

A lazy smile graced Steve's lips and he pressed their foreheads together before nudging their noses together too. "I love you, Tony Stark."

Tony nudged him back.  "I love me. Tony Stark," he replied with a slow, self-satisfied smirk.  His hands slid around Steve's waist and he began running his fingers softly up and down Steve's back.  "And you. You uppity little omega, you." He stole a kiss and then gave a tired laugh, dropping his forehead onto Steve's shoulder, panting quietly.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this tired. The prolonged adrenaline from the mission and Steve's heat and then sex was all catching up to him at once and he was ready to sleep another twelve, eighteen, twenty-four hours before dealing with anything.

"Nap," he declared firmly, gently flopping onto the bed with Steve and closing his eyes.  He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"...what you said to Stark in there.  That was brutal," said Sam once they were alone.

Natasha shrugged.  "Got me what I wanted."

"So the end justifies the means?"

"Yup," she said, gaze fixed ahead as she flew them eastward.

"...we gonna tell them the whole story?"

"Do we ever?"

"You like Stark?"

"He's okay.  I can work with him."

Natasha glanced down at her phone for a moment to text Clint.  He was the only one on the team she knew for a fact had experience with inducers and figured Steve might need someone to talk to, once he woke up.  She knew that, in all likelihood, Steve had probably gotten his neck patched, gotten fucked, and was going to crash for at least a day. She huffed a little.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Yeah.  Just thinking about them using that.  It's a dirty trick."

"Well... that's HYDRA," said Sam with a small shrug.  She hummed in agreement and the two of them lapsed into silence for the rest of the flight.

* * *

Steve was right about building up an immunity to heat inducers. They had to do it the old-fashioned way.

Fortunately, Steve was all about doing things the old-fashioned way.

Every Saturday, Steve went to the base, and every Saturday, he had an induced heat. They used the dart he'd kept from the fight to recreate the inducer to the point where it was almost identical. The only scientists around were betas. Clint opted into the same treatment as Steve. It was good to have him back, at least on the weekends. After all, there was no one else Steve could do this with.

They spent the first few sessions sweating and rolling around in pain mostly; it wasn't until the end of October that either he or Clint was capable of doing anything more. And a month after that Steve had Clint on the floor on multiple occasions. It was getting to the point where Steve didn't feel the inducer anymore; he just got a light sweat and perhaps a little frustrated. It was the serum, the doctors told him, no one else would be able to adapt like this. Steve, of course, was then worried for Clint; as Steve began taking higher and higher doses, Clint remained unable to ignore the effects of a full dose of the stuff.

Unlike Steve, Clint's inducer experiences lasted days, and Steve didn't know how in hell he'd dealt with that. But when Clint found out his only lasted a few hours he whistled low:

"Dude. I dunno how you went through all that in that time. Think it woulda killed me.  I'd rather have it spaced out."

So every Saturday Steve would come home, tired and frustrated. Tony was never around for the main event so it didn't drive him crazy like before, but he could still smell Steve's post-heat when he returned home. All he had to do was walk into the house and soon he had his Alpha falling into bed with him. It was oddly sweet.

By December Steve was declared immune which meant he was ready for the fight again. Fury, of course, soon caught wind of what he was doing.

"It's a sensible precaution," he hummed. So Nat and Sam hadn't told him then. They were good friends; Steve was grateful to be saved the embarrassment.  Although Fury was a beta, he was, in a way, Steve's boss, and Steve didn't like the idea of Fury seeing him in heat.

"I thought so," Steve agreed.

Fury's gaze flitted over him. "So...technically you're in heat now?" he affirmed.

"Technically," Steve said. He wasn't even sweating, not a hair out of place. He was perhaps a little breathless (which was abnormal for the super soldier) but that was all.

Nick pulled a face. "Impressive."

"When's the next mission?" asked Steve.

Fury gave Steve a look.  "Not 'til next year.  We're still analyzing the data we recovered from the Cuban base.  Why don't you focus on tango lessons with your mate or something?"

" _Tango_ lessons?" protested Steve.  "But I want to do another raid!  I'm ready, sir.  They can't hit me with an inducer again.  I want to get back into the field.  I want to fight another battle.  HYDRA doesn't take breaks.  How can I?"

Fury sighed.  "Rogers, the Avengers Initiative is not a full-time gig.  You have to understand, this is the future, and we fight a different kind of warfare now.  It's not all charging into bases and spraying gunfire all over the place.  Sometimes, it's subtle, and simple.  We do a lot more intelligence gathering and planning than we do raids, and any raid we do has to be with the approval of the World Security Council.  ...when we're ready for you, we'll let you know.  Until then, focus on having a good Christmas, Rogers."  He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder.  "There's a life between battles, Steven.  Go and live it."


	14. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it's been a rough year for the boys. Here's some well-deserved fluff.

The days following the mission were nerve-wracking for Tony.  He kept waiting for a call from SHIELD or, worse, a personal visit from Fury, who had a habit of popping up in his life like some sort of ominous gopher.  But that call never came and eventually Tony was forced to conclude that either they didn't care about the fiasco or, more likely, the report given by Natasha had smoothed the truth over a little.

He went back to working on his suits in the basement, fixing up the old ones and still trying to create the Mark VII, which he could get to come to him and also to assemble but was having a hard time keeping from slamming into him with the force of a small vehicle.  In a way, he appreciated the difficulty of the problem. That meant he spent less time thinking about Steve breaking people's bones, and less time thinking about Lab 9 and Steve's old mate, Bucky, who might, at any moment, be lurking somewhere plotting to kill him. And of course there was the issue Tony didn't dare bring up, the issue of trios, because he'd never been with a single person this long.  Their six-month bonding anniversary was in November; as they days moved into December, Tony wondered if he was doomed to only sleep with Steve for the rest of his life. He hadn't really thought about that when he'd mated him. But he couldn't help but let pretty girls catch his eye now and then. He was Tony goddamn Stark and the lingerie models of the world were his playground. He felt robbed, almost.

Then again, it wasn't like he wasn't being kept satisfied.  The serum had made Steve someone who had energy to spare, and in addition, he'd begun spending the weekends at Camp Pendleton, trying to build up an immunity to heat inducers.  Every Saturday evening he came home reeking like sex and Tony took him in every conceivable position and corner of the house, happy to accommodate Steve's arousal. Steve mentioned he was seeing more of Clint, which Tony took to mean that Project Thor had either petered out or had stabilized.  SHIELD had gotten very, very good at hiding from him; occasionally he tried to break into the system just for fun, but mostly, he was content not to. It wasn't that he trusted them, just that there was no longer very much interest. And maybe, deep down, he was worried about what he'd find. The Winter Soldier, Bucky... it haunted him.  He and Steve didn't talk about it, even though, on occasion, one of them would get a pang of emotion that wasn't from the other, or a dream that was a little too vivid to be only a dream.

December meant that their couples interview was coming up. Steve was honestly kind of nervous. Up to this point the details of their relationship had remained mostly private and he was pretty sure they were about to get exposed and dragged apart. He just hoped the interviewer would be on their side and not work against them, and the worst thing was that it was on live TV! It was a Christmas special thing, Aria had told him, but honestly Steve hadn't really been listening.

The morning of the interview Steve woke up early to shower. He tried to calm himself down and focus on the coconut and raspberry smell of the shower gel. Steve stepped out of the steamy bathroom with just a towel around his waist. He bent down to kiss a half-awake Tony's forehead.

"Time to get up. Interview's today," he murmured.

Tony woke from a sleep that had been dreamless.  He hadn't been bothered by the other Alpha in at least a couple of weeks, for which he was immensely grateful.

He cracked an eye open to see a torso.  A muscled stomach and the curve of a hipbone and a towel wrapped loosely around a tanned, taut waist.

He looked up.  Steve had just gotten out of the shower.

"Nuh," he groaned, pulling the sheets over his head.  "C'mon, another five minutes... interview?  What? .. _.nuuhh._.."  The fact that the interview had been planned for months didn't matter.  Tony hated mornings and hated morning people. Steve was always up at the crack of dawn.  There was no doubt in his mind that Pepper and Aria were downstairs already, cups of coffee in one hand and Blackberries in the other.

The interview was at a local studio.  A talkshow called _Banksy and Boswell,_ one that Aria and Pepper had picked because it had mass appeal to all stations.  They had decided that _Oprah_ was too geared toward Alphas and _Ellen_ was too geared toward omegas; _Larry King_ was too serious but _Fox and Friends_ too silly.  (Admittedly, no one except Tony had ever seriously considered _Fox and Friends_ ; Tony had mostly pushed for it because the cast included Elisabeth Hasselbeck, who was No. 8 on his To-Screw list).   _Banksy and Boswell_ had been chosen because it was perfectly in the middle and the hosts were a bonded pair.  Their Christmas special the previous year had gotten 6.2 million viewers. Pepper and Aria had been running promos and analyzing numbers for weeks, trying to get everything in order.  Tony's primary contribution had been to promise Pepper that he'd pick out a tie to wear. (Actually he still hadn't done that.)

"I've already given you your extra five minutes," Steve told him with a lopsided smile as he knelt down by his bedside, head tilted as his gaze flickered over Tony's form in bemusement. His chest was rising and falling steadily beneath the sheets. Steve reached up to slowly peel them back till he could see Tony's eyes, nose and then lips.

"Hey there," he breathed, laughing gently when Tony cracked open an eye to glare at him. Steve leaned down to kiss him and then nudged their noses together gently. It was so easy being domestic like this, being happy...it was easy to forget about HYDRA and Bucky and everything they'd done and wanted to do. It was easy to forget about SHIELD. This was just _them_ and today was about just that. It was kind of a big deal. They were finally presenting themselves as a couple in an interview, a united front. Steve leaned his head in his hands as he looked down at his alpha, eyebrows raising slowly in expectance. "Come on. Once it's over we have the rest of the week to ourselves." And then it was Christmas. Steve was both excited and apprehensive. Christmas had never been much of an event for Steve before. He'd always been too poor or sick to really enjoy it, and it was often both. Hopefully this year would be different.

Tony still didn't move. Steve sighed fondly and reached up, dragging the sheet down lower. "What will it take to persuade you?" He asked, voice a touch softer than it was before.

"Literally nothing you could do could persuade me," said Tony with fake seriousness, wiggling his hips a little at Steve, letting the sheet bunch up around his waist.  He caught his eye and winked, then grabbed the pillow and pulled it over his face.

Pepper had been pretty strict with them about leaving before 8:30 am and getting to the studio no later than 10.  As usual, Tony had opted to ignore that. He'd also opted to ignore the folder Pepper had dropped off in the shop about the show.  He didn't need to know anything about the show. He'd grown up with it. The show that came before it had first aired in the 70's as _The Boswell Mackabee Variety Hour_ , which featured the titular Boswell Mackabee interviewing politicians and singers and athletes and also usually included a couple of entertaining skits.  Its lighthearted title didn't do it justice. Boswell Mackabee liked interviewing politicians and he did so ruthlessly. When the show had first aired, he'd been young, wearing brown suits and a thick pair of glasses.  Boswell Mackabee was now in his seventies and his hair was grey, but he still had the heavy glasses and was as sharp as ever. _The Boswell Mackabee Variety Hour_ was a show Tony had watched with his father as a kid, and once his father and Stane had been on together, talking about "those damn hippies."  (It had been a great episode, in Tony's opinion.)

In the eighties, the show had been abruptly changed to _Banksy and Boswell._ Tom Banksy was an omega at least thirty years younger than Boswell, and the polar opposite.  Boswell never smiled; Banksy was young and chipper and bouncy and bubbly. He wore outrageously colorful suits and was constantly making jokes.  It was the first time an Alpha-omega bonded pair had been on television together as co-hosts and it was considered a bold, dangerous move. What's more, the omega's name came first.  ("It's alphabetical. It sounds better that way," Boswell had told the press dully, refusing to acknowledge the strange, progressive turn the show had taken.) Despite the initial controversy, people liked Banksy and the two of them had incredible chemistry on the screen.  Boswell's deadpan mannerisms became more comic and likeable when contrasted with Banksy's larger-than-life personality; Banksy filled a much-needed role on the show, which had become increasingly stern and political. The interviews were still thorough and thought-provoking but now, they felt less like attacks, and the show had been hailed as the precursor for news satire shows like _The Colbert Report._

Tony remembered when _The Boswell Mackabee Variety Hour_ had become _Banksy and Boswell_ because he'd been a teenager and Banksy had looked only a little older than him, and Tony had had a brief crush on him.  He remembered Stane scoffing; "Bonding makes men into fools," he'd said, glaring at the television that Tony was watching, and Howard had smiled faintly and shrugged and said, "So does love, wealth, and fame, my friend."

It seemed like an obvious choice, actually, for the two of them to be on a show with such a rich history.  There was probably a bunch more of it in the file Pepper had dumped on his desk but Tony felt like, having seen the show, he didn't have much to brush up on.

Steve, of course, had read the file from back to front. He'd found it quite an interesting read and he was pleasantly surprised at such progressiveness in the form of a bonded pair, especially considering their initial rocky start. Usually, inspiring stories came from lone omegas who were 'breaking out of the mold' and away from Alpha influence. But Thomas Banksy proved that it didn't have to be that way. That an omega with an Alpha could be successful and independent and yet still support one another at the same time. Their history was sweet and inspiration and in all honesty Steve was excited to meet them, even if he was apprehensive about going on the show itself. Steve was sure there was other guests coming on the show too but he honestly hadn't recognised the names when Pepper told him. Aria told him pointedly not to worry about it, that it was "cute when you don't know things."

"Literally nothing?" Steve echoed, blue eyes bright with mischief and voice deceptively soft. "Well then, I guess won't bother trying...but I did have an idea in mind," he hummed and pulled away, feigning seriousness just to wind him as he walked into the wardrobe, dropping the towel as he went. He grabbed the clothes him and Aria had agreed on earlier - black jeans, a white shirt, navy blue waistcoat and a tie to match. The tie was _subtly_ Christmas-y, the blue speckled with white flecks of snow and a moon in the centre with what appeared to be the silhouette of Santa's sleigh across it. Aria insisted he be festive but 'keep it classy.'

Steve set the clothes down on the edge of the bed before he glanced up to see Tony watching him over the top of the pillow. He smiled innocently. "Can I help you?"

Tony peeked at Steve from under the pillow.  "Well, I didn't think you'd just... give up," he said.  "You're Captain America. Normally you're annoyingly persistent, especially when it comes to getting me up in the morning."

"Maybe I've decided that dragging you out of bed is no longer the most persuasive technique." Steve shrugged innocently as he dropped down the tie with everything else. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip briefly. "I think it's better to get you to take a little gumption of your own. You're a lot less grumpy when you get yourself out of bed."

Tony sat up and eyed Steve's outfit on the bed.  His goatee twitched a little. "You're gonna look _adorable_."  Lately, he'd noticed Steve dressing a little snazzier.  He blamed Pepper and Aria for this. Steve was like a Ken doll.  (Tony had had to explain to him what a Ken doll was when he mentioned it.)  "But I have to admit, I kind of like you like this," added Tony, framing Steve with his hands.  "I find this particular look to be very persuasive, for some reason. ...I bet if you asked me to do something, I'd be tempted to actually listen for once."  He looked at Steve pointedly.

Steve almost blushed at the comment and then looked up, expression softening as Tony pretended to size him up just so. He cocked his head and met his gaze before he sighed fondly. "Well then," he placed his hands on his hips and gave him an expectant look. "Get out of bed, Tony." He said, voice not quite commanding but certainly firm.

Tony huffed but swung out of bed and stood there naked, arms crossed over his chest.  The arc reactor in the middle of his chest glowed on. Steve, like Tony, had gotten used to sleeping with a light on.

"There.  I'm up," said Tony grumpily.  He pointed to Steve. "I bet Banksy doesn't boss around Boswell like this."  He'd been hoping Steve would use his "powers of persuasion" to issue an order sexier than "get out of bed," but he also knew this interview was important to Steve and despite his general orneriness, he did actually care about the interview.  It would be the first one they ever gave side by side, unless you counted the announcement at the expo. But Tony didn't like to admit when things mattered to him. He'd avoided telling Steve his trepidation about Christmas. Tony had a tradition; every year he and Pepper went up the lodge on Christmas eve. 

Then she went home for Christmas (home was in Connecticut) and Tony spent Christmas by himself, getting slowly trashed, which is how he remained through New Year.  He wasn't sure how to ask Steve, or for that matter Pepper, what they'd do for Christmas eve this year. Tony hadn't even realized how much the tradition meant to him until he started considering what the year would feel like without it.  He kept hoping Pepper would bring it up so he wouldn't have to.

Tony took a few steps to close the gap between him and Steve.  He looked up at the blond and nuzzled his jaw. "Don't ever stop being a stubborn, uppity omega who doesn't know his place," he said quietly, smiling.  He ran a hand down Steve's side, waited until his expression had softened a little, then blurted out, "I didn't pick out anything to wear even though I said I did last week."  He offered Steve one of his helpless grins.

Steve tilted his head into his touch and then sighed fondly at Tony's confession. "It's okay. Aria sent some back up stuff." Maybe it was via Pepper, but she seemed to constantly be aware of how unreliable Tony could be. She always had a back up in place for either of them. Steve traced his fingertips down the edge of Tony's jaw, his smile almost dreamy. Even he'd not been awake an hour yet. "I think it's just over here..." He forced himself to pull away and fetch clothes. Aria had sent everything in a neatly folded pile in the form of 'Tony's plan B'.

'Plan B' consisted of black slacks, a dark red shirt and a dark grey waistcoat. The tie was black and plain to match but the left breast pocket of the waistcoat had Santa's cartoon head peaking out of it. It was cute. For Aria, at least. "There you go," Steve told him with a bemused smile and leaned down to kiss his cheek before pulling away to get dressed himself.

Maybe it was weird but Steve had kind of come to love boxers. Back in the day underwear hadn't been all that comfortable or practical. But boxers were soft and comfortable and you still didn't have to worry about them showing through your trousers, even with tight jeans. Steve had to do a little wiggle (a move Natasha had taught him for jeans) to get them snug on his hips before he moved onto everything else.

With his tongue sticking out a little in concentration (a habit Steve was aware of but had no control over) he managed to do his tie and tuck it into the waistcoat just fine. Steve glanced up to catch Tony watching. "...Do I look okay?"

Tony watched Steve wiggle into his underwear, his hips movingly enticingly, not moving to put on his clothes.  Steve tucked his shirt in and began tying his tie, brow furrowed, tongue out, with military precision. The dark blue made his eyes look brighter than ever; when he looked over at Tony, Tony stared, taking a moment to process the question.

"No," he said after a moment.  " _Okay_ isn't even close.  You look _fantastic_.  Do I have to wait until Christmas to unwrap you?"  He gestured downward to drive his point home. Sometime between Steve's hip wiggle and the tongue coming out, he'd gotten an erection.

He cast a glance over to the stack of clothes Steve had brought him, making no move to begin dressing.  "This is awfully festive for me," he said. He wasn't sure if Steve appreciated how weird this all was for him.  For Tony, the holidays were an excuse to have a big party, nothing more. But for Steve they seemed to have actual meaning.  Tony had watched his delight at fireworks on the Fourth, his eyes misting over when everyone sang "America the Beautiful." He'd watched him eagerly dress them up for Halloween and watched him inhale an entire turkey by himself on Thanksgiving.  A lot of the traditions had changed, but Christmas hadn't changed much. People still got trees and hung stockings and Santa from 1930 was the same as Santa from 2010. Maybe that was part of it. Maybe Christmas was one of the few holidays that was still familiar.

"C'mere," demanded Tony, holding his arms out affectionately.  "I'm out of bed, give me a reward. Let me kiss my boy. Then I'll put on your Christmas vest."

Steve undeniably blushed when Tony gestured to his erection. Maybe it was his forties sensibilities...but it didn't matter how many times they did it and in how many positions, Steve would always be at least a little bashful when it came to sex. You didn't talk about it back in the forties, certainly not in public at least. Steve knew he blushed far too easy and he would probably be more embarrassed by it if he didn't know Tony liked it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so easily pleased in the morning before," Steve commented softly, cheeks not quite losing their pinkness. He walked over and curled his arms around Tony's shoulders loosely as he leaned in to kiss him, parting his lips and letting his Alpha lead as tongues nudged together. When they parted for air Steve's eyes were perhaps a touch darker than they were before. He smiled faintly but sincerely, their breaths mingling together because they were close.

"I can think of a few times I've been this happy in the morning," replied Tony glibly, stealing another kiss from Steve.  "...you're not just going to leave me like this, are you?" He wiggled temptingly against Steve.

"You know, I think you were supposed to be getting dressed. And I'm not supposed to end up getting _undressed_ so...I should probably leave you to it," Steve whispered, tone playful. He hesitated and then didn't back off, Tony's touch and presence magnetic.

"Sir, Miss Potts would like me to remind you--" began JARVIS suddenly.

"Can it, Jarv!" barked Tony.  "Tell her I'm busy corrupting Steve!"

"She would like me to remind you that if you spend the morning corrupting Steve, you will be late for--"

" _Can it_."  Tony played with Steve's waistband.  "As if some interview is more important that pleasuring my omega," he scoffed, leaning forward to brush his lips to Steve.  "I love you, Stevie... love how you blush... love that wholesome, all-American nice guy thing you've got going..." He slipped his arms over Steve's shoulders and traced the bite mark on the back of Steve's neck.  "Almost makes me want to behave myself... almost..." he purred.

"Sir--"

"JARVIS, so help me Newton I will unplug the shit out of you!" exclaimed Tony, throwing up his hands in exasperation.  "Can't a guy get a blowjob around here without his disembodied robot butler bothering him every five seconds? ... _yes,_ I'm aware of how bizarre that sounds, Steve," he added, catching Steve's expression.  At the word "blowjob" he'd started blushing all over again.

"I don't think you're capable of behaving yourself," Steve hummed, trailing a few fingers down Tony's chest. He shivered as the other trace over the scar, now even more prominent ever since the mess of the inducer on the HYDRA base. He nudged their noses together gently and then ducked his head down to nip his bottom lip. Steve smiled against his mouth. "But I like you that way."

He glanced up to the clock on the wall. "We have twenty five minutes until we need to leave," Steve said, brain accessing quickly. They had time. Just...if they were quick about. He smirked subtly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"And who says I'm giving you a blow job, huh Tony?" It was a feat in itself that Steve managed to say the phrase and his cheeks not turn a tinge darker. He was already getting excited himself, seeing Tony like this and the hype from the interview...  "I want you inside of me," Steve murmured, voice low in Tony's ear.

Tony purred and turned his head to nip at Steve's lips.  " _You_ want a quickie?" he murmured playfully, acting shocked.  "Since when did you like to live so dangerously?" (Steve, unlike Tony, had a strict habit of getting to appointments on time.)

"Since it's Christmas and you look too good in the mornings. And I like your bed hair." Steve murmured, fingers reaching up to run through his hair pointedly, making it even more of a mess than it already was.

His hands had already untucked Steve's shirt and were undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, fingertips brushing his skin teasingly.  "Clearly I'm a bad influence... let's get you out of these clothes, I don't want them to get all sweaty... bend over the bed for me, Steve, let me take care of you."  Tony kissed his neck, helping him shrug off his shirt. "I'll be good for the rest of the day after this, I swear," he added, reaching into Steve's pants. His hand brushed Steve's erection, his balls, then dug deeper to find his entrance.  Steve was already moist; Tony teased him gently, stroking his hole, enjoying the way Steve squirmed and gasped and tensed, at the warm fluids slowly coating Tony's fingers.

"Takes a lot for me to work up a sweat," Steve pointed out a little breathlessly. It was true. Clint had once despaired at him. They'd been sparring for over an hour and Steve hadn't even broken out in a sweat. The archer had just rolled his eyes as Steve offered him a hand to pick him up off the floor yet again. " _You're something special, Rogers_."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut as Tony teased at his entrance, eventually turning around in the other's arms to bend over the bed, leaning down on his elbows. They didn't have long so he wiggled his hips impatiently as if to make a point, his back arcing in invitation. He didn't have to see Tony to know his reactions.

"Come on. Don't leave a guy hangin' here."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Tony softly as Steve bent over the mattress, sticking his ass invitingly in the air.  He put his hands on Steve's hips and pressed the head of his cock against Steve's backside, feeling the other arch and writhe eagerly.  As much as Tony missed women (he missed them a lot), he had to admit that Steve's body was a perfect fit for him and that Steve was not only responsive but had an outrageous sex drive.  Maybe it was the serum. Steve didn't tire out and he was nearly always ready to go, which suited Tony fine and was one of the primary reasons he hadn't pushed the trio thing.

He ran his hands up Steve's sides, slowly lowering his body onto Steve, pressing his weight down (but being careful not to press the arc reactor into him; lesson learned; he'd marked, cut, and burned Steve on multiple occasions).  Steve's hands were tangled in the sheets; Tony gently put his hands over Steve's, threading their fingers together. He gave their bonding mark a quick lick before wiggling his hips and pressing himself into Steve, shuddering at the tight warmth around his length.

"Love you," he said dreamily, in a sing-song voice, beginning to thrust into Steve's willing form.  He loved how Steve could simultaneously go limp beneath him and also have every muscle tense up.

"Love you too," Steve panted out, his own cock hard and pressed into the sheets. He would make a mess of them no doubt but they'd been replaced many times before (because of both sex and that time Steve got shot.) The friction of each thrust almost burned and he thrived on it.  "Fuuck," Steve gasped softly, eyes rolling back as Tony pressed inside of him. He shivered at the stretch and took it well, clenching around him invitingly as he lazily rocked back into Tony's thrusts. "Tony. Yes, that's-" fingers curled over his own, almost pinning him down as he curled and squirmed at the touch.

He admittedly enjoyed sex more than he thought he would. Maybe that was a credit to Tony, or to sex in general. Omegas weren't really supposed to enjoy sex in the forties (or anything really.) They were just supposed to appease their Alpha and make babies, and frankly beta women sometimes didn't get treated much better.

Tony giggled softly as Steve swore.  Of course Steve swore, he always swore; he'd grown up in a poor neighborhood and he'd been in a damned war.  But in interviews his old-timey manners always came out, and the media played him up as having such a wholesome, "aw shucks" attitude that Tony couldn't help but laugh any time Steve swore in bed, which was nearly always.

He pumped himself in and out of Steve, always stopping just before forcing the knot in; if they knotted then they would be late for sure and he didn't feel like explaining that to Pepper or Aria.  It was so tempting to bury himself, to feel Steve's body grip him and hold him, but he didn't dare; he knew how much the interview mattered to Steve and wanted to behave so he could negotiate more quickies in the future.

Beneath him, he could feel Steve rubbing himself against the bed; Tony untangled their right hands and reached down to grip him.  Over the last six months he'd grown comfortable touching Steve. He hadn't gone down on him and Steve hadn't asked him to, for which he was grateful.  But jerking off Steve was easy; he jerked himself off all the time, after all. Of course, Steve's anatomy was different. No knot, which Tony had initially found extremely weird.

Steve's head already had beads of precum on it, and Tony wasted no time in running his palm over the fluid and using it to begin stroking Steve in rhythm to his thrusts.

"Come for me, omega," he murmured as he pounded Steve into the sheets.  "Show me what a good bitch you are... come for me, come for your Alpha..."  He nuzzled the back of Steve's neck encouragingly. He didn't feel the need to add that he was a couple of thrusts away from finishing, himself; he was sure Steve could feel it in the tightness of his muscles, the throbbing of his member.

Tony talking to him like that just turned him on even more. Steve whined low in his throat as Tony fucked into him and stroked him in tandem, his sensations going haywire. His fingers flexed, but didn't fight, against his alpha's grip and he clenched around him again as he grew close. He couldn't speak. He was too turned on, his voice gone in the place of moans and whimpers.

He never thought degrading language would turn him on either. Maybe it made Steve a bit of a hypocrite. But it was also not the worlds' business what Steve did or didn't like in bed, politics aside.

Steve squirmed and then tensed under him, coming onto the sheets in Tony's hand with a cry that was muffled by the pillow under his lips. His hair would need fixing again, no doubt. Steve clenched around him again, encouraging Tony over the edge as he rocked his orgasm out with slow stutters of his hips.

"Aw, fuck, Tony. Aw, gawd..." He pressed his cheek against the pillow, eyes half open and gaze glassy. " _Please_."

Tony came the moment he felt Steve's body shudder under him.  He could hear Steve whimpering and begging into the sheets and his hand was coated with Steve's semen; he let out a long, satisfied sigh after he'd drained himself, letting himself go limp on top of Steve, half of his member still inside him.

"Good omega," said Tony softly, squeezing Steve's left hand.  Gently, he let go of his cock and wiped his right hand on the sheets.  Tony had no embarrassment when it came to leaving huge sexual messes. In fact, he seemed to take pride in them.  When he wore condoms, he tossed them away without looking to see where they landed; Steve was pretty sure Tony's maids got paid an enormous amount to clean up after him.

Tony eased off of Steve, kissing the back of his neck softly before he got up.

"Okay.  Welp. Time to get dressed," said Tony.  He gave Steve's ass a friendly slap. His ejaculate was dripping down Steve's inner thigh.  Tony felt a pang of pride in that.

Steve groaned quietly. "I _just_ had a shower," he mumbled, fully aware he'd brought this upon himself (he had no regrets either.)

"Thought you don't break a sweat easily?" teased Tony.

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony as pushed himself up and went to clean away Tony's mess in the bathroom best he could. Steve tucked everything back in and then splashed cold water over his face to get the pinkness to die down. He fixed his hair quickly before stepping back out to find Tony fixing his own.

They still had ten minutes. That was plenty of time... well, they could drink coffee in the car. Steve hoped he didn't look like he'd just been screwed by his Alpha. He checked himself in the mirror a little worriedly. Problem was he _knew_ for a fact that he had been. Still, no regrets. Steve smiled a little and walked over to kiss Tony's cheek just as he was fiddling with the tie. "I like the Santa," he hummed with a half smile.

Tony beamed at Steve as he fought with his tie.  Tony didn't normally do "cute." Frankly he thought they looked like dorks.  But he was happy to let Steve dress him if it meant he got to do _that_ to him every morning.

"I'm just gonna go down and grab coffee," Steve told him softly before he pulled away.

He entered the kitchen and instantly felt both women were judging him. There was a beat of silence. "We have to leave soon," Aria said simply, her eyes narrowing. Steve swallowed, not breaking under her gaze (although he had come close before.)

"I know," he answered her innocently, moving to make coffee and grab a croissant. "We're waitin' on Tony."

Tony took his time trimming his beard.  He slid on a pair of rose-tinted sunglasses and loped downstairs, pulling on a wrist watch.  Pepper and Aria were standing impatiently by the door, each gripping a tablet and a couple of folders and binders.  Pepper's Blackberry was chirping with such frequency that a normal person might have thought it was broken. Aria was frowning at Steve, Steve was demolishing a pastry, and it occurred to Tony that they expected better from Steve, at least.  If not for him, they could have left early.

"I'm ready, let's go," announced Tony.

Pepper looked up and immediately heaved a world-weary sigh, crossing the room to redo Tony's tie.  The only knot he knew was the half-Windsor; she began retying it into an Eldridge. "That watch doesn't match," she observed.

Tony looked down at his wrist watch.  It was brown. "...it doesn't," he confirmed.

"Steve, can you get Tony a cup of coffee, we need to leave in--"  Pepper checked her own watch. "--two minutes. ...you haven't gotten a tree yet?"

Tony gestured to the jungle of orchids.  "Where would we put it? We'll spend Christmas at the lodge, it's fine, they'll have a tree up for us there.  ...you're coming too, right?"

"Hm?  No, I have a flight back to the east coast on the twenty-third."

Tony blinked as Pepper took his wrist, pulled off his mismatched watch, and replaced it with her own.  Pepper had been wearing a man's watch for years because Tony often failed to match his watches; they swapped accessories often.

"But... we always do Christmas Eve together."

"This year you have Steve," said Pepper, fixing Tony's new watch to his wrist before strapping the brown one on to her own.  It didn't quite match her outfit, which was a dark green dress and gold earrings, but she wasn't the one going on television.

"Yeah, but you and me, we always do Christmas Eve," said Tony, trying to sound like he didn't care, even though he did.  A lot.

Pepper looked up and made eye contact with him, blinking.  Her gaze softened as she reached up to fix his hair. (Tony had, in a very short amount of time, managed to get it messy again, even though he'd done nothing more than jog down the stairs.)  "Tony. I want to spend Christmas Eve with my family this year. And you should spend it with yours."

"I don't have one," protested Tony.

"...Steve's your family now."

Tony hadn't thought of it like that.  He looked over at Steve, shocked. "...did _you_ know about this?" he demanded.

"Okay, guys, come on, if we miss Banksy and Boswell--" warned Aria.

Tony grinned.  "I love Banksy."

"Everyone loves Banksy, he's a delight" said Pepper, almost dismissively.

"Aw, Pepper has a crush," teased Tony.

"No, I don't."  Her ears were going slightly pink.  Tony lowered his sunglasses to stare.

"Wait a second.  Pep... do you _actually_ have a crush on him?"

"No," she said curtly, ears going from pink to red.  "Come on, hurry up or we'll be late. Steve, don't get crumbs on your tie.  Tony, don't put scotch in your coffee."

Steve could feel Tony's disappointment and confusion tug in his own chest. He honestly hadn't really thought about Christmas plans all that much aside from assuming there would be lots of food (yay). So when Tony accused him of some how being involved in Pepper's plans he was pretty taken back. That wasn't Steve's style. If Tony were to have Pepper over then he would be able to have Nat and Clint. Now he figured he might not. He wasn't sure. Apparently in the 21st century people liked to plan Christmas weeks and weeks in advance...for him it usually been a few days before. Not they'd ever really had much to plan for.

"I didn't even know there was a lodge," Steve protested as he pressed a triple espresso into Tony's hand before pulling away with his own cappuccino. (He couldn't really feel the caffeine kick so for Steve it was all about the taste.  And the calories.  He put whole milk in his cappucinos and lattes; he had tried not to look too disgusted when Tony had eagerly told him about almond milk.)

He almost felt like he were watching a conversation between mother and child, which was odd. Steve knew Tony was technically a lot older than him, but he didn't often feel like the more mature one.  Tony was looking at Pepper with a hurt expression.

"I don't even get why you people put so much pressure on yourselves at Christmas. Just do whatever you want. I swear, some of you act like if you don't get turkey then the world is over," Aria muttered as she got into the car. She was Jewish, Steve had found out after a few weeks of working together, and found all the Christmas extremities quite bemusing. "You see people the rest of the year. Why is the one day so much more important than the rest?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer.

"You're Christian. Or you were. It's different for you," Aria pointed out and took another sip from her own macchiato.

"Well, I, for one, _don't_ see my family the rest of the year, because of _him_ ," said Pepper, inclining her head toward Tony.

Tony let out a noise of protest, still feeling hurt.  Christmas Eve had become one of the few intimate things he and Pepper had together, something they did outside of their working relationship.  Every year they'd go up to Mt. Baldy and drink a cup of cocoa with a shot of peppermint schnapps. They'd been doing it for a decade. The only year they'd missed was the one when Tony was in Afghanistan.

Not that Tony was married to Christmas in particular.  Before he'd hired Pepper, he had celebrated Hanukkah with Obadiah.  His childhood had been a confusing mismatch of holidays; his mother and father and one of his nannies had pushed Christmas, while Obadiah had pushed Hanukkah, and the other nanny, perhaps just to be contentious, had pushed Kwanzaa.  The result was that Tony associated winter in Long Island with wearing a dashiki, lighting a menorah, and then unwrapping presents while avoiding a very drunk Howard. For Jarvis, Christmas meant a hell of a lot of work because every year they threw a massive, relatively secular holiday party, where Tony was dragged around and had to meet a lot of his father's friends and shake a lot of hands.  If he played his cards right, he normally ended the night sick from a combination of too much candy and too many sips of champagne from indulgent adults who delighted in Tony's intelligence. Tony never saw another child at any of the holiday parties; he was his father in miniature, a mascot who got a lot of gifts and was showered with attention but, at the end of the night, always felt relieved that it was over.

"Tony.  You and Steve are going to have a wonderful Christmas," Pepper reassured him, smoothing down his tie.  "I promise."

Tony looked over at his omega and after a moment's consideration reached for his hand.  Relief washed over him when Steve took it and smiled at him.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe he did have a family now, after all.


	15. Banksy & Boswell, part I

Happy was leaning against a black SUV when they stepped outside.  It was a brisk 65 degrees; Los Angeles was stubbornly pleasant even during winter.  The sun was bright and Tony squinted against it despite his sunglasses.

"Nice outfit," said Happy, eyeing him.

"Nice tie," replied Tony.  Happy was wearing a black tie printed with tiny red-and-white candycanes.

"My girlfriend got it for me."

"...you have a girlfriend?" said Tony, eyes narrowing.  Pepper had a family and Happy had a girlfriend? He didn't like this at all.

"He's allowed to have a life outside of you, you know," said Pepper, practically shoving Tony into the back of the vehicle.

"Do _you_ have a significant other?" he demanded, rounding on Pepper.

"Every year we go through this, Tony," said Pepper, pinching her nose.  "It's none of your business and you have nothing to feel threatened by. I'll be back from Hartford on the twenty-eighth, okay?  You're going to have a great Christmas."

"I need a drink," said Tony.

Happy pulled a flask out of his jacket and offered it to him.  Pepper pinched her nose again, looking like she was in desperate need of a flask herself.

"Oh my God! Can we not feed bad habits here, _please_?!" Aria knocked the flash out of Happy's hand before Tony could take it then promptly dropped it out of the window. "Drive. We've wasted enough time already. God." She groaned and tilted her head back. "If we're late I'm going to kill you, Stark." The scary thing with Aria is you weren't quite sure if she meant it or not. Tony grinned at her.

They didn't arrive late. They arrived _just_ on time.  Aria ushered them into the studio, looking more focused now they'd arrived.

The moment they walked backstage it was chaos.  Tony and Steve were both immediately accosted by a couple of hairdressers.

Before Steve knew what was really happening he was being pushed down into a chair and a woman was fiddling with his hair and tutting to herself.

"I like it like this!" protested Tony as a second hairdresser began poking at his head.

A tall, slender woman walked up to them and shook Pepper's and Aria's hands.  "Jeanette. I'll take them from here," she reassured them. Tony's eyes nearly fell out his skull.  Jeanette had waist-length copper hair and her face was splattered with freckles; she was dressed in a plum shirt with a ruffle and a short pencil skirt and impossibly tall heels.  Tony let himself be lured away by the hairdressers, still ogling her.

Pepper relaxed noticeably when they dragged Steve and Tony off and followed Aria outside.  Pepper often joked that she'd take up drinking or smoking, but never had. It just wasn't in her nature.  She hardly even drank coffee.

Aria and Pepper disappeared together once they had passed Tony and Steve off to the hairdressers.  Outside, Aria stood leaning against a box with a cigarette loosely held between two fingers. The boys were the studio's problem now until they went live in forty minutes. "Has he always been like this?"

Pepper blinked. "Like what?"

"Like he's a dependent child who's too afraid to let go, and also has confused sexual feelings for you?" Aria asked, taking a drag straight after. She was obviously asking in Steve's interest, her eyes narrowing.

Pepper blinked at Aria's sudden hostility.  She understood that it wasn't directed at her, precisely, but she and Tony had operated in tandem for so long that it did feel a little personal.

"Actually," replied Pepper in a cool, measured voice, "he's gotten worse since Afghanistan."

She looked across the lot, watching a few people unloading a set piece off the back of a truck.  She knew that Aria's question came from a place of concern, but what else could she say? Tony's life had never had the slightest bit of normalcy or consistency, and he was emotionally stunted, immature, self-absorbed, and had terrible judgement.  This was the longest monogamous stretch Pepper had ever witnessed; Tony's relationships usually lasted an average of two or three months and ended in an explosive fight that often involved alcohol. Steve had been an incredible stabilizing force, but no one person, super or otherwise, could reverse decades of damage.  She was rooting for them, but if she'd been asked to bet money on everything working out neatly... well, she wasn't so sure.

"You know Tony can walk away from this unharmed, don't you? If he screws this up he'll be fine. He'll just be 'playboy' Stark all over again, and he'll have screwed Captain America.  Another conquest for Stark.  Bragging rights. But Steve doesn't have that luxury. If his first-" Aria shared a look with Pepper and sighed. "-first _proper_ Alpha and _mate_ leaves him, he's done. Sure, everyone's for equality with his face on it. But they won't like him when he's just a reject. Even if Tony just cheats on him, but doesn't leave him, Steve is _over_. He's an omega; his reputation is delicate. War hero or not." Her eyes glazed over with something sad. "I've seen it happen before."

She was clearly stressed about this, had clearly thought about it a lot... Aria was almost shaking. She brought her cigarette to her lips and took another drag. "Tony's under a lot of pressure right now. A lot of mates don't like it when their O might be stealing the spotlight. They won't _say_ anything but they don't like it. Shit. I'm- I'm sorry..." She shook her head and sighed, rubbing at her temple with her free hand. Aria looked tired. She didn't have any eyeliner on today. It made her look younger. "I just worry about this so much. It would be so much easier if Steve wasn't bonded, no offense...I know him well enough now. He's a squishy one. If this goes south he won't recover and I'll be out of a job. He'll go full-time soldier. Bye-bye rights movement. Bye-bye charity. This could be huge and it's all just resting on... _them_. On their stupid, goofy relationship working out."

Aria finished her cigarette and then lit a second one. 

Pepper wasn't sure what to say.  She agreed with all of it. She knew, perfectly well, how delicate the balance was, what a fragile place Steve's reputation was in.  And she wanted the charity to work out just as much as Aria did; she'd always been for expanding omega rights. Yet she also knew that Tony was so incredibly irresponsible and self-focused that depending on him was a death sentence.  Against all odds, she did like Tony, maybe because she felt sorry for him. His heart was in the right place but he lacked the basic coping mechanisms people typically developed in adolescence. And there was one thing she disagreed with: Tony wouldn't walk away unscathed if things went south.  He clicked with Steve and he couldn't afford to lose any more friends. She'd seen how he reacted when he'd first found out about Bucky. But she didn't comment on it. She reached over and patted Aria's arm.

"I'm in full support of you and Steve.  You know that. Who knows, maybe Tony will surprise us.  He's full of surprises," she said neutrally. She offered a small smile.  " _This_ is why people need Christmas.  To take a break from all this. You should take one, too, while the boys go up to the lodge.  You've been juggling a lot for Steve. It'll wear you down, burn you out. I learned that with Tony.  Sometimes you just have to let go of the wheel for a while, take a leap of faith... hope that they make the right decision."

Her thoughts turned to Tony, the way he'd eyeballed Jeanette, and she sighed.  Tony was a lot of things but she'd learned _not_ to trust him to always make the right decisions.  Being smart didn't mean he was good at long-term planning.  Rather, he tended to react to everything impulsively and emotionally and then use his intelligence to justify his decisions later.

Inside, Tony's interest had been refocused from Jeanette to a flutter of activity across the room.  He perked up (the hairdresser made an impatient noise at the sudden movement) and hissed, " _Steve_...!"

Boswell Mackabee strolled into the room trailed a dozen people.  He was dressed in one of his usual dour suits, a dark grey pinstripe with a dark burgundy tie.  He held a glass of scotch in one hand. And Tony was surprised to discover that, although he was just as tall as Tony had imagined, he was not the overly dominating Alpha Tony would have assumed.  He, like Tony, didn't exude dominance.

"Captain Rogers, Stark," he said with a nod.

"Mr. Mackabee," said Tony casually, pretending he wasn't the least bit excited.

"Drink?" asked Boswell, pointing to Tony with the hand gripping the glass.  Tony noticed his hands. Boswell's age was starting to show.

"I thought no one would ever ask," said Tony.

"Jeanette, get Stark a--"  From behind him, someone popped a bright red Santa hat on him.  Boswell heaved a sigh. "--I'm not wearing the hat."

"Please?"  From behind him appeared Banksy.  Tony was immediately smitten; he was gorgeous.  His blond hair fell down to his jaw but he'd tied it back in a tiny ponytail.  All of Tony's concerns about looking too festive had evaporated; Banksy was wearing an outrageously loud green and red suit with a matching tie.  He was grinning, practically bouncing with excitement, and he squealed when he noticed Steve. " _Captain Rogers_!  Just the man I was looking for!  Can I steal him for a sec, Keisha?"  He gave Steve's arm a tug. "As if you even need makeup," he scoffed.  "Come on, let's go have some omega talk, I want you to meet Danielle. _Don't take the hat off, Bozzy._ "

Boswell was already removing it.  "I'm not wearing this."

"Yes, you are.  Make it my Christmas present.  Oh, please, Bozzy, come on, just once--"

"No, absolutely not," he said gruffly.  Tony watched, fascinated. Seeing Boswell Mackabee in a Santa hat was of more interest to him than speaking to Mariah Carey, who was having a meltdown across the studio because Jeanette had made some last-minute lighting changes to one of the stages.  (The other performer was The Barenaked Ladies. " _Please_ tell me you don't mean the band," Tony had said.  "I mean the band," said Jeanette humorlessly.)

Tony had all-but forgotten about Jeanette, at least temporarily.  His interest was completely captivated by Boswell, who had just handed him a drink.  Boswell had aged well, but he was probably in his late seventies and Tony knew he had a son that was Tony's age.

"So, Stark Jr."

Tony cringed.  "Please, just Tony.  Stark Jr. was my dad," he said.

Boswell chuckled a little.  "Good guy. Interviewed him about... oh... thirty-something years ago?  That was right about the time I met Tom." (It took Tony a split-second to realize he meant Banksy.)  "Had a good chat about the arc reactor, renewable energy..."

"Yeah, I watched _The Variety Hour_ ," said Tony, nodding.

"My condolences for Obadiah Stane."

Tony felt a pang in his chest.  Not a lot of people offered that.  Stane was seen, at the end, as a dangerous madman.  To Tony, he'd been the guy who taught him piano. He'd almost forgotten that Boswell had interviewed him, too.  "...thanks," he said. He decided to change the subject. "Thirty years, you've been with Banksy?"

"Mmhm," said Boswell, with a faint smile that creased the corners of his eyes.  "Thirty years strong. We were bonded in, let's see, '82. So twenty-eight years, actually... twenty-nine, come February."

"That's something," said Tony admiringly.

"Mm-hm.  We've talked about maybe wrapping up the show for our thirtieth anniversary.  I don't need to point out that I'm getting on in years. We'd love if the network just made it _The Banksy Show_ , but it's like pulling teeth with the execs, they don't want to give him full creative control... he's still got plenty of energy, though, you know, he's about your age."

"He's older than me," corrected Tony.

Boswell waved a hand.  "Oh, four, five years, that's nothing."

Tony's brain was already screaming through the math.  "Five years? He was born in sixty-five?"

"Mm-hm, late '65."

"But... but you guys aired in '84-- you bonded when he was seventeen?"

"Don't look so shocked.  It was an arranged bond."

Tony choked on an ice cube and Boswell leaned over to slap him on the back.

"You guys were arranged?"

"Mm-hm.  Got bonded one year before they outlawed it, and he cried through the entire bonding ceremony.  'Course they don't have ceremonies anymore, thank God, what a lot of stupid pageantry and work--"

Tony stared, horrified.  "But... but you guys are like... like this."  He laced his fingers together to indicate closeness.

"Oh, sure, after twenty-nine years," said Boswell with a wave of his hand.  "We learned to love each other. But the first few years were the hardest." He took a thoughtful sip of his drink.  "Times change. Just look at what your Steve is doing, now. And Tom's been pretty involved in Status Alliance ever since Ryan moved out-- that's my son--" he added, for Tony's benefit.  Tony understood immediately that Ryan wasn't Banksy's, that Banksy was a stepmother. He tried to grasp the concept of Banksy helping to raise a kid who was probably close to his own age.  "--which makes him happy, I guess, and I said, well, Tommy, if it makes you happy, go for it," Boswell continued. He nodded, then added with a small smile, "No doubt Tommy's recruiting Steve now."

Tony was still trying not to choke on his drink, still trying to grasp this new information.  The file had probably mentioned they were an arranged bond and he was kicking himself now for not reading it.

Boswell was more or less right about Tom and Steve; they'd holed up in Banksy's dressing room for the time being.

Banksy was the kind of omega Steve could have been pre-serum if he'd grown up in this century. He was small and cute, but full of energy. He got his Alpha to wear a hat (which frankly looked adorable in Steve's opinion.) He held presence in a room. Steve almost felt mournful as he let Banksy pull him away with a half awkward chuckle. But he also felt happy. Happy that an omega could be like this... his own person, without having to be six foot and have biceps the size of someone's head. Steve wasn't necessary anymore. And that thought was oddly freeing.Steve and Tony were being dragged apart by Boswell and Banksy; they shared identical dopey, excited grins.  The energy in the air was palpable, and contagious.

"You know I actually won a bet when we found out. $10,000 from my old history teacher. I didn't make him pay up," Banksy winked at Steve as he tugged him through a door. "But he offered to."

Steve raised his brows in surprise. "You knew I was an O?"

"Of course I knew!" Banksy pinched his cheek gently. "You're too goddamn pretty."

Steve laughed, genuinely. He wasn't quite sure if Banksy was being serious, but his smile was warm.

"Danielle! Come over here! You have to meet our favorite captain!  Danielle McDavid, Captain Rogers," he introduced the two of them.  Danielle was an athletic omega with dark skin, her hair tied up in little braids, younger than Banksy but older than Steve.  Her handshake was firm. "She's the head of Status Alliance, probably one of the biggest omega rights organizations in the country--"

Lately, Steve had been overwhelmed with requests for various organizations.  As promised, Irshad Nazari, head of the World Omega Rights' Council, had been working closely with Aria and had sent Steve the contact information of a man named Jeffrey Walker, who was the head councilman of the Horseshoe Society, the nation's oldest omega-rights society.  They hadn't touched base yet; Steve was too busy and according to Irshad, Jeff was laid low due to a tricky pregnancy (twins).

"--so you two should definitely chat, but _later_ , because right now, I just want to get to know _you_ , Captain.  Can I get you something to eat?  You look famished. Here, have some prawns."  He offered Steve a plate of shrimp.

Steve was about to offer his hand out to Danielle to shake when prawns were shoved into his hand. She had bright green eyes that pierced right through him. Her presence reminded Steve of Natasha. He certainly didn't want to get on her bad side.

"It's nice to meet you," Steve said instead of offering out his hand. Danielle just smiled subtly but her eyes spoke volumes.

"So. Off the record.  Tell me. Honestly. How's he treat you?" He fixed Steve with a look and Steve suddenly realized that this wasn't part of the interview or the Christmas special.  Banksy looked genuinely concerned about Steve, looked like he truly cared about Steve's well-being. And Steve was fully aware that this was probably why the three of them, all omegas, were currently in Banksy's room, alone; because the other omegas didn't trust Steve to be honest when he was around Tony or any other Alphas.

He was taken back by the question and honestly quite confused by it. Steve knew that Banksy had had an arranged bonding when he was young and he imagined that it couldn't have been fun. Honestly, when he read about it it had made his stomach turn. But Steve's relationship wasn't like that...was it? Sure, they had a shaky start but they were both shaky people. Considering all their baggage Steve felt like they'd done alright. Did other people not think they'd done alright?

Steve set the prawns down. He suddenly wasn't hungry. "I can look after myself," he said.

Danielle leaned her hip against the countertop that was littered with Banksy's things, most of which consisted of hair products. "That's not what he asked you," she pointed out, voice deceptively soft.

"I..." Steve blinked. He hesitated. His hesitation seemed to worry Banksy, whose eyes narrowed at him.  "He tries his best," Steve said and then cringed at how bad that sounded. "Not in a bad way- his father didn't leave the best impression on him."

Wait, was he shit-talking Howard?  Howard, who had helped make him Captain America in the first place? ...huh. Turned out he was. But in all honesty Steve had never especially liked him. At least, not the way he looked at him.  Like a piece of meat.  The same way he looked at women.  Howard had been a very dominant Alpha and Steve had generally tried to steer clear of him.

"But does he treat you okay?" Banksy asked again. "That's what I'm asking about. You. Not him."

Steve swallowed.

"I...I don't know." He admitted. "My perception of okay is kinda skewed, you know? And so is his. He's been through a lot."

"So have you," Danielle added coolly.

Banksy and Danielle shared a look.

"Steve," said Banksy gently.  He reached out to put a hand on Steve's knee.  "I think the work you're doing is really important.  That's why I asked you and Danielle to come on the show.  Omegas need a world we can be safe in. But sometimes, people get so worked up about the world that they let people slip through the cracks.  And I don't want you to slip through the cracks." He patted Steve's knee. "I just want to make sure you're okay, that he's being good to you.  One O to another. Don't let him get away with being a jerk just because you're bonded to each other. Listen, how about sometime after the holidays, you come to a meeting with the Alliance?  You need omega friends."

"We can order pizza," offered Danielle.

"Oh my gosh, don't _bribe_ Captain _America_ , Danielle!" said Banksy, giving her hand a light smack.  He turned to Steve. "But, yes, we will order a pizza, it'll be great.  And we think your charity is just amazing, so make sure you talk about that on air, it's unscripted and live so I'll try to ask a few leading questions so you can promote it.  The SA would love to help in any way we can."

"I like pizza," Steve offered. Danielle grinned triumphantly.

Danielle and Banksy were both offering him cards.  Banksy was offering him, specifically, one card, and it had his personal number on it.  Danielle was offering him four cards, one for herself and three others for members of the SA: Remi St. Laurent, Tiberius Stone, and Wendy Germaine.

"Any time you need to call any of us... we're family," said Danielle.

"Status Alliance is all about bringing back the support omegas had for each other back in your time," said Banksy.  "Because even though we've come a way... we're still not out of the woods yet."

"And we look out for ours," said Danielle.

"Any time," agreed Banksy, nodding, giving Steve's knee a squeeze.

There was a knock on the door but it didn't open.  Banksy rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, I think I've got to return you before Keisha murders me.  Also I need to go make sure Boz is wearing that hat." He rose and opened the door for Steve with a winning smile. 

_Don't let him get away with being a jerk just because you're bonded to each other._

For some reason those words bothered Steve. Like...what other option did he have? Maybe it his forties thinking screwing up his brain. But an omega couldn't risk a bond going wrong. An Alpha could get over it, bond again, but not an omega.  Once bonded, the back of an omega's neck was forever tainted by the scar of the bonding mark. And whilst his Alpha would be focusing on the feeling of his new mate, the omega would still feel  his old Alpha...it was a form of torture. No one wanted to go through it. Steve always thought that the serum made him the exception. That he had been freed from his bond but...but really, Bucky had just grown so distant. And Steve had done nothing. He hadn't been there for him. If anything he'd distanced himself too. It was embarrassing, really. Bucky was the only one who had seen him so needy, so _weak._ And the moment Steve had outgrown that he had abandoned his mate.  He felt plagued by guilt but didn't know if there was anything he could do to fix it. 

All he could really do was try to be a better mate to his current Alpha.

Steve tried to get Tony to look after himself better, sure. He made him wear that cute little Santa waistcoat. But he didn't really ask for things, did he? He never made demands or enforced them.  Tony did whatever he wanted.  And Steve let him because he didn't believe in forcing another person to do something they didn't want to.

...but Tony made demands of him all the time.  Like Tony would ask for coffee, whatever. But that was the way he was...that was nothing to do with being an Alpha, was it? God. It made Steve's head hurt.

He knew an outsider might comment on the imbalance in the bedroom but after everything Tony had been through in Afghanistan....Steve didn't expect anything from him. He was just happy they got to enjoy each other as it was.

But did Steve like the way Tony was around beautiful women? Not really, no. But he also trusted him. He guessed it more bothered him because...Steve was pretty sure if he went around flirting with super hot Alphas then Tony wouldn't be happy. (Steve never would, not his style.) He just didn't want there to be any double standards. Maybe he'd have to do it to make a point. Urgh. Ew. No. Steve knew he didn't want to...maybe he'd talk to Clint about it.

Surely he was only paranoid because Danielle and Banksy had scared him a little.  He and Tony had been bonded for seven months and they were doing okay, right?  Banksy and Danielle had only just met him and they couldn't possibly understand.

Despite all his worries, something had warmed in his chest when they said they were like family. It was good to know people had his back. Sure, SHIELD did, but they had a different prerogative. For once this wasn't about Steve's mission. This was about his life. People were interested in _him_ , not what he was doing. It was sweet, actually.

"Thank you, really," Steve said softly and Banksy just nodded, like he understood. He did, Steve realised. An arranged bonding- his mother had fought tooth and nail to protect him from that. Even though the money would have sorted her out for life.

The second he was out the door Keisha was on him. "Captain, please get in the chair, we only have five minutes." She ushered him way, shooting Banksy an annoyed but fond look.

Tony and Boswell had long since finished primping and they were on their second glass of scotch, chatting like old friends. Tony had discovered that Boswell, despite his hang-dog face and serious mannerisms, was actually pretty friendly.  He reminded Tony of Stane back before he'd...

"Hat," commanded Banksy, jutting one hip out and pointing.

"Tommy, please--"

" _Hat_."

"Tommy, I really can't--"

"I'll wear it," offered Tony, watching Banksy eagerly.

Boswell passed him the Santa hat and Tony put it on with a grin.

" _Adorable_ ," said Banksy, giving him a kiss on the cheek before blowing past to talk to one of the teleprompters.  Tony beamed.

"Hey, Jeanette, do you think my hat's adorable?" he called across the room.

"I think you could have saved Raquelle thirty minutes if you were just going to wear a hat," said Jeanette, barely glancing up.  She was wearing a heavy headset and going through a last-minute check-list with one of the members of the sound crew.

"You're wasting your time.  No sense of humor, that one," said Boswell.

"...clearly not," agreed Tony.  He looked to Steve. "Where were you?  You ready? You look great. ...does this hat really make me look adorable?"  He reached over for Steve's hand and gave it a squeeze. Steve felt a bit bothered and Tony figured it was nerves.  But he considered talk shows easy. The audiences were small and you couldn't even see them because you were facing the stage lights and the glare made it impossible to see anything but your immediate surroundings.

"Gorgeous," pronounced Keisha, giving Steve's face a few final pats with a little powder brush.  She smiled at her work.

"Positions!" barked Jeanette.  "Center stage, Mackabee, Banksy, get up there!"

Boswell rose, passing Tony his half-finished glass of liquor, which Tony took gratefully and poured into his own cup, consolidating them.  "Alright, see you kids out there," said Boswell gruffly.

"You two.  You go on when they cue you, from stage left, okay?" said Jeanette.

"Do we get to drink out of those _Banksy and Boswell_ mugs?" asked Tony, who was still nursing his own glass of liquor.

"I'm not letting you drink on set, if that's what you're asking.  Are you wearing that hat or not, Stark?"

"I'm totally wearing the hat," said Tony as one of the stage hands clipped a microphone to his shirt.  "Oh, that's not going to work, is that wireless? Sorry, the reactor's gonna scramble that..."

"Shit.  You're kidding me.  You didn't think to tell me that earlier?" demanded Jeanette.

Tony grinned helplessly.  "Yeah and I can demagnetize credit cards, too," he said helpfully.  "That's how come I don't put anything in my breast pocket. Anything too close to it gets zapped."

"Shit," repeated Jeanette.  "Don't move, I'll find you a hand-held mic."  She breezed off. Tony watched her go (God damn, pencil skirts) before turning his attention back to Steve.  "Who else is coming on? I didn't read the thing."

"Danielle McDavid," said one of the stage hands, pinning on Steve's microphone.

Steve looked at himself in the mirror. He honestly thought he looked exactly the same as when he walked in here in the first place. He squeezed Tony's hand back gently. He felt...weird. Banksy had given him a strange sense of self-doubt. Didn't Steve follow what he preached? Wasn't he an all-independent omega who was capable of standing up for himself? _Wasn't he?_

He didn't know anymore.

Steve blinked and turned away from his reflection, slowly taking in what Tony just said. "Danielle's nice. She said she's going to buy me pizza sometime."

"Dunno who that is.  ... _is that a shrimp plate_?  Steve, can you go get me some shrimp real quick before the show starts?  I didn't know they had shrimp. Hey, you, do me a solid and pour this into a coffee mug," demanded Tony, thrusting his glass at one of the many aides scurrying around.  She took it for him and disappeared. Tony said, an aside to Steve, "I've _always_ wanted one of those mugs."

"Maybe, if you stop objecting that poor stressed-to-hell woman with your Alpha gaze, I'll get you shrimp because God forbid you go get it yourself."

Steve didn't know why he said it. Steve wasn't usually quite so...forward.  Well, not with friends, or loved ones. He usually kept confrontation to the battlefield. But it was like something in him just...snapped.

Steve looked shocked at himself. Shocked he'd actually said that. Because sure, he'd _thought_ it but he didn't realize the words had actually left his mouth until he watched Tony's expression suddenly change.

Tony lowered his sunglasses to stare at Steve.  "My Alpha gaze?" he repeated slowly. "...are you fucking serious?  I asked for _shrimp_ , not sass.  Is this your new thing?  Make everything into a goddamn omega rights issue?  Make me the bad guy 'cause I was born Alpha, 'cause I happened to get lucky?  ...thanks for that, Steve."

A stage hand offered Tony a mug; he took it.  "Thanks, doll," he said to her, still looking sharply at Steve.  "Also, get me some shrimp. _Certain people_ are too busy being oppressed by me to get it."

The stage hand gave him a confused, sideways glance and went off.  On the set, the audience laughed at something someone (undoubtedly Banksy) said.  It was an odd background noise to hear during a fight. Tony was still staring at Steve, his expression stony.

"This isn't about omega rights, Tony. Just me," Steve said quietly and willed his shoulder line to tense back down. This wasn't good, just before they went live...Steve wasn't good at pretending. But he would have to be. He would be. Maybe him and Tony could work this out. After a couple of conversations, or something. He didn't even know what he was doing, Steve realized. Couldn't Tony feel it though? How shitty it made Steve feel when his other half literally ogled body types that were 100% unattainable for him and then made demands and ordered him around like he was nothing more than one of the many nameless stagehands? He sighed.

Now really was not the time for this.

Pepper, Aria, and Jeanette walked over.  Despite being betas, all three could immediately sense the tension in the air.

"Oh, God, now what?" moaned Jeanette, shoving a microphone into Tony's hand.

"What did you do?" demanded Pepper, pointing to Tony.

"Me? _Me?!_ What the _fuck_!  I didn't do anything, why's everyone always assume it's _me_?" cried Tony in exasperation.

" _Because it usually_ is _you_ ," replied Pepper with equal exasperation, reaching over to straighten his tie.  "Never mind, we can fix whatever it is after the interview, you've got about eight or nine million viewers so you two go out there and say some sound bites."

Tony threw back his drink with a small shudder at the astringent taste of the alcohol.

Then his face split into a smile, one that was incredibly charming and winning and that Steve and Pepper knew was completely and totally fake.  "Yeah, let's go have a holly-jolly interview, Stevie. You're my favorite ho-ho-homega." He tapped Steve on the nose with a nauseatingly level of cuteness.

Pepper tapped her finger to her lips and shook her head.  "No, too cloying. Dial it back," she commanded. "You're at a nine, I need you at a six or seven."

"That's a nine?  I'd hate to see a ten," muttered Aria.

Tony rearranged his face into a pleasant but less gleeful smile and threw an arm around Steve's shoulders.  "Our first Christmas together? It's gonna be _magical_."

"...better," said Pepper.

"Am I expected to say stuff like that?" Steve asked, raising brow as Aria stepped forward to straighten down the collar of his shirt. She smiled a little.

"Just be yourself. And think back to this morning- maybe that will cheer you up a little."

It took Steve a second to realise what she meant. He almost went pink all over again. " _Aria_..."

On the set, Banksy and Bowell were talking; Banksy had just finished saying, "...World War II veteran, civil rights leader, and the world's only genetically enhanced super-soldier, Captain America!"

The audience was clapping.  Pepper and Aria gave the two of them a shove.

Tony slipped their hands together.  There was no real tenderness in the gesture; it was for show.  "Well, c'mon, 'mega.  Let's go give 'em what they want," said Tony.

He squeezed Steve's hand, and even though Steve still felt defensive and annoyed, he squeezed back.


	16. Banksy & Boswell, part II

The last time Steve had been on live TV, he had been standing behind the president and had had no lines.  He had been instructed merely to smile.

Steve winced a little when they introduced him, proudly, as America's only genetically enhanced super-soldier.  Steve didn't really think he should get credit for the enhanced thing. He was just the test subject, really. He'd just had to sit there. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

This interview was different than anything Steve had done before; it was a nearly hour-long interview about some very personal topics, airing live, and Steve could honestly say he was a little nervous.  He was grateful to be holding Tony's hand.  There was no real tenderness in the gesture; it was for show.  But when Tony and Steve strolled on stage together, Tony was smiling and nodding.  Since the expo he'd been a recluse, barely showing his face in public. Aside from going out with Steve, Tony had holed himself in his shop and been keeping himself out of the public eye.  Maybe because Steve had only ever seen Tony in his own territory, or from across a private, romantic dinner, he'd never appreciated just what an incredible actor Tony was. Tony and Steve dropped into a leather loveseat.  Boswell was behind his desk, but Banksy was sitting cross-legged in an armchair near them. Tony was still holding Steve's hand, and he placed their hands on his thigh, where they would be most visible for the cameras.

Banksy reached over to shake their hands, then feigned shock that he couldn't because they were holding hands, and instead rose to give each of them a kiss on the cheek, prompting audience laughter.

"Welcome, welcome, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, super great to have you on... congratulations on your bond, of course, Bozzy and I got you a little something..."

Boswell reached under his desk and pulled out a large purple orchid.  The audience "awwed."

Tony smiled.  "Thanks, it's gorgeous, we love it.  And you're only about... seven months late."

The audience laughed; so did Banksy.  "Seven months, has it already been seven months?  That's just fantastic. I guess time flies when you're having fun.  Are you two having fun? How's the bonded life been treating you?"

Tony knew these questions were just warm-ups to the more serious ones.  Like how they were managing when Tony was a futurist and Steve was a guy raised in the twenties.  And when they were going to have kids. And questions about Steve's charity and what it hoped to accomplish.  He was expecting most of the questions to be directed to Steve. Steve was the country's darling and although Tony was high-profile, people didn't worship him the way they did Steve.  (Minus tech geeks, of course. Tony knew he had a small but rabid following of programmers.)

The crowd wasn't too overwhelming, thought Steve, scanning the audience anxiously before focusing on the grounding touch of Tony's hand in his.  He knew he was doing it for the show, and that he was annoyed at him, but Steve still appreciated it. It was a tiff, really. Hardly even a fight. They'd probably just talk it out and have angry sex against a wall later (that was how these things usually went.)

A lot of answers ran through Steve's head at Banksy's question _. W_ _ell, I've had one miscarriage...an ex and his super evil Nazi organization are trying to kidnap me...I've been becoming to immune to heat inducers which means especially good sex at the weekend...my heat's due soon and I'm fucked, and not in a good way.._.

But outwardly, Steve smiled at the question. And he answered it honestly because that was what Steve did best. He couldn't put on a good show like Tony did; he knew it would come off as insincere. "These past seven months have been the happiest of my life."

The crowd cooed appropriately and Steve almost blushed.

Tony glanced over at Steve.  The happiest? Huh.

"We haven't seen much from you, Mr. Stark.  You've been fairly reclusive since the last couple of... mishaps."

"Mishaps?  Is that what we're calling them?" replied Tony, cocking his head.  Then he added, "I've been real lucky to have Steve. He's... stabilizing, I guess."   He shot Steve a glance and suddenly felt like their fight was stupid. Sure, Steve had gone off on him for no reason, but he was probably just stressed about the show.  And the last seven months had actually been some of the best in his life. They'd been easy. No stress from the company at all. No board or shareholders to harass him.  Just unlimited time to work in the shop and listen to music, and all of that peppered with lots of sex. Steve was humble and complimentary and made sure he was eating. Steve was like Pepper but so much more giving, so much more affectionate.  And Pepper was right. Steve _was_ his family.  Steve had been a consistent force for good in his life and he'd been there for a solid seven months.

Tony squeezed his hand.  "I'm happy," he concluded.

Banksy clucked approvingly and reached over to touch Boswell's hand.  "Oh, young love. That's the sweetest thing."

It was strange to have their love called 'young.' Neither Steve nor Tony felt especially young, did they? Steve supposed their relationship was relatively new but even so, it had already found a rhythm. They had fallen into a cooperative routine. They worked. They really were...happy. Something glittered by Steve's eyes for a brief moment. He never thought this would be possible for him, for a bond to be loving and fulfilling and everything he'd honestly ever really wanted. Sure, it wasn't perfect but that wasn't the point. It was still incredible. It was something Steve never could have had with Bucky.

"Have you found your bond affecting all aspects of your life, or has it been mostly personal?" asked Boswell.  "We haven't seen much of Iron Man lately."

"...Steve has," said Tony with a mischievous grin.

Steve squeezed his hand back gently, something fluttering in his chest. A comforting feeling...like reassurance.

Banksy grinned in turn. "I do hope that isn't a euphemism, Mr. stark."

The crowd laughed gently.

"No, he means seriously," Steve said with a smile. "He's been doing a lot of work on his suits.  It's very impressive. He can even pick me up with it."

"Sounds very handy!" said Banksy, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at them.

The crowd laughed properly then. Steve turned a little pink, honestly not meaning it like that.  Boswell fondly rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"So now that things are settling down with you two... people want to know.  What can we expect in 2011?"

"Not kids, if that's what you're getting at," said Tony immediately.  The audience groaned good-naturedly, and Boswell offered a tight smile.

"See, now, that's a smart move," he said.

"Don't let Ryan hear that," said Banksy, giving his arm a friendly slap  "Steve-- can I call you Steve-- I do know you've busy with a lot of other projects right now... you're doing some big work for omega civil rights?" he prompted.

Tony sipped out of his mug, feeling better about all this.  He wasn't sure what had prompted Steve's little outburst backstage (maybe he was jealous over Jeanette?  he shouldn't have been, Jeanette was clearly not interested. A shame.) but he felt like they were over that already.  Steve would talk about his little charity, Tony would made snarky comments, when the show was done filming they'd go backstage and chill with Danielle McDavid and Banksy and Boswell, and then they'd go home, pack up, and make for the lodge.

Easy-peasy.

The only fly in the ointment was that Dr. Gleason still hadn't called.  Now that it was less than a week from Christmas, Tony was officially getting worried.  Steve's last heat had come on hard and fast, and he was due for another one soon. Tony had been trying just not to think about it, but it loomed over him, its presence increasingly threatening.

They talked about the charity and how it was developing for a good ten minutes, Boswell in fact prompting some of the more serious topics of discussion. Such as some of the hostile reception to it and the opposition Steve would face. But he answered every question with a winning smile and a glint in the corner of his eye. Banksy took the topic and lead it into the forties, however. (Steve was really quite fed up of talking about an era people could just learn about through google, honestly.)

"So, did you find you sometimes had trouble connecting...because of Steve coming from a different era? After all, bonding and relationships in general were viewed very differently back then," Boswell said.

Banksy laughed and it was an almost sad sound. "Well, I certainly wouldn't be here."

"I mean...I kind of had trouble connecting with everyone," Steve said. "But Tony's been very patient with me. Especially with twitter, it took me a while to really grasp that. I remember waking up one morning to be told that Taylor Swift had tweeted at me? I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be offended or not..."

And then the crowd laughed and the awkwardness was gone as quickly as it came. It was Christmas. No one wanted to talk about serious oppression in the forties. They wanted cutesy Steve Rogers laughing over his failures with modern day technology...and well, that was what they were going to get.

"Let me tell you, nothing makes me feel like more of a genius than having Steve ask me to reset the WiFi," said Tony with a smile, patting Steve's leg.  "But seriously, ah... Steve growing up in the twenties and thirties hasn't been a problem. He's very progressive. Very headstrong. In some ways I think I'm the more backwards one.  I grew up very privileged and I think that, generally, the upper crust of society is often the most resistant to change. I mean, my childhood butler was an omega and..." Tony paused to take a sip from his mug.  "...and we never looked each other in the eye. I didn't realize that until recently and... and I guess I have a lot of guilt over that. A lot of regret."

This surprisingly heartfelt revelation was met with a beat of silence.

"Just goes to show we all have something to learn," said Banksy after a moment, smiling.  He leaned over to tap Boswell. "Pay attention, you could learn something from these two."

The audience chuckled, and Boswell offered him a small, stiff smile.  "Can't teach an old dog new tricks, Tommy."

"Oh, puh-lease... Captain Rogers is the oldest one here!"

The audience laughed again.

Banksy introduced Danielle McDavid ("head of Status Alliance and one of my best friends") and the interview glided on.  Banksy plucked off Tony's Santa hat (Tony saw Jeanette, offstage, cringe, and he knew that his hair was probably a mess) and plopped it on Boswell's head, prompting audience hysterics and a good-natured groan from Boswell, who agreed to wear it "only because it means so much to you, Tommy."

The crowd awwed when Steve turned around to fix Tony's hair for him with gentle movements of his fingers. "That's better," he murmured, so soft only Tony could really hear him before he let himself get sucked back into the discussion again.

The conversation turned more serious again with Danielle, as she began talking about her own personal experiences and struggles. Then Boswell turned to Steve, looking almost curious.

"Do you have many troubles at work because of status, Captain?"

"Not with my employer, no," Steve said carefully. "The United States goverment's always been real good to me and it's only gotten better since the forties. One of the first people I met when I woke up was an omega with a high up position, and another helped train me. They don't see status. They just see people."

"Is it hard having a load of Alphas follow your orders?" Danielle asked through a smile.

"I mean," Steve shrugged. "They can manage it in the forties. They can manage it now."

"Steve's actually very bossy," interjected Tony, his tone light and teasing.

One of the failures of television was that scents couldn't be communicated.  On the surface everything was going great. But Tony could still sense a bit of tension between him and Steve.  And Danielle was radiating a certain kind of defensiveness that Tony didn't understand. He had heard of Status Alliance but knew no more about it than he did anything about, say, the Society for Creative Anachronism.

But despite that, Tony felt pretty good about this.  The audience was cooing, awwing, and laughing. Banksy and Boswell were bouncing off each other with their usual charisma and they were balancing the questions between sweet and serious.

Currently they were all talking excitedly about Steve's charity.

"Any concerns about the controversy surrounding a running a pro-choice organization?" asked Boswell.  Tony had hoped they'd skip that question. Suppressants were one thing (although there was still a mild bit of debate regarding whether they should be covered by healthcare, and how accessible they ought to be)... but abortions were another.  Omegas had it worse than women and always had, historically. It seemed like rights for omegas were always a few decades behind for some reason.

Tony snuck a peek at his watch and was grateful to see it wasn't long before they wrapped up and turned over the show to the performers.  He knew that the "babies" question was going to come, though. Probably at the very end. He'd been steeling himself for it. The answer was, of course, "Steve's still young," with was a vague "no" and also a bit of a joke.  The perfect answer.

Having heard nothing from Dr. Gleason, Tony had decided he should probably go get that vasectomy.  It could be his Christmas present to himself.

"I mean, it's not like we're going to say people should have abortions...we just want to give them the option," Steve said, keeping his voice calm. "Whether people want to keep it up, or consider adoption...that's their choice and we want to support them through it out. The important thing is people making the right choice for them."

"It's a huge,  life-changing decision," Danielle hummed, smoothly cutting in. "Sometimes people don't make the right decision for them because of societal pressures. It's about giving people a safe space to ensure that doesn't happen."

Banksy nodded, having nothing funny to say and Boswell looked a little sobered up, even with the hat on his head.

"So, yeah. No concerns really. I don't think it's all that controversial," Steve breathed with a small smile. Banksy smiled in turn. Danielle nodded.

"Well, that's just great," said Banksy, nodding.

"Status Alliance is all about giving omegas control over their own destinies," said Danielle.  "We just want what Alphas have always had. The right to carve out our own paths."

"Now, speaking of life-changing decisions--" began Banksy.

Tony groaned without meaning to and the audience laughed, eagerly expecting the next question.

"--we _have_ to ask, the people want to know, Captain... any plans to expand your family?"

Tony shook his head vehemently.  "No, no no no. No children. Not even a dog.  I'm not the nurturing type. My bots are my kids."

There was a groan of protest from the audience and Tony felt a pang of anxiety.  Shit, did people actually want them to have kids? Were they stupid or something?  He looked over at Steve, hoping for some back-up.

"Kids aren't really going to fit in with the whole army thing, I think," Steve pointed out gently. "Especially with the charity too, and Iron Man. I mean... I get shot at once or twice a month," he joked and the audience laughed. They probably didn't think it was true.

The sad thing was that it was.

"What about in the future? What about after you retire?  You don't plan on being a soldier forever?" Banksy asked, looking at them all doe-eyed with his head resting on his hands.

Steve blinked. He couldn't really imagine a time after the fight, when it would be over...it came from living though a war, he supposed.

"I guess we'll see when the time comes," Steve said, feeling like that was the appropriate middle ground answer. He squeezed Tony's hand again. He could feel that he was uncomfortable.

Tony felt relieved when the conversation turned again.  He knew that people expected kids to follow bonding, just like how people expected kids to follow marriage.  But being confronted with it made him uneasy.

They ended on a light note, though: plans for Christmas and wishes for a good new year, and then they passed off the show to Mariah Carey, and everyone relaxed.

"You did great," said Banksy.

"Thanks, you too," said Danielle.

" _Now_ can I take the hat off?" asked Boswell with exasperation.

"No, I love it!" exclaimed Banksy gleefully.

Tony look over at Steve, still holding his hand.  "I know they're having a big brouhaha after the show but I'd rather... spend some private time," he said quietly.  He gave Steve a tight smile. "Bet you that shield would work just as good as a trash can lid for sledding," he added.

"Tony Stark sledding? I didn't think I get so lucky," Steve murmured in a light, teasing whisper, smiling that Tony had remembered what he'd said. "I think...I think I'm good with some private time too, actually."

Tony had two lodges, one in California and one in Colorado that was virtually never used.  His California one was used once a year; the Colorado one had been inherited and he'd kept it for sentimental reasons, even though he hadn't been there since 1984.

He leaned over to nuzzle Steve's neck, hoping their earlier argument would be forgotten and they wouldn't have to talk about it.  The lights were down on their stage and the audience's attention was on the performance on Set 2, giving them relative privacy.

Steve shivered when Tony nuzzled against him and his beard dragged over the soft skin of Steve's neck.

"Oh no.  I don't sled.  I snowboard," said Tony.

"Careful, he gets competitive," warned Pepper.

"Me?  Competitive?  Nonsense," said Tony.  He grabbed a passing stagehand.  "Hey, can I get a cup of crushed ice?  These stage lights get me crazy hot. ...I can't wait to get up to the lodge, we're due for a bunch of snow, it's gonna be great."

Pepper and Aria and Jeanette and Danielle and a half-dozen stage hands had swarmed over, but that was to be expected.  Steve and Tony ignored them, their earlier spat all-but forgotten.

"Steve, Dr. Gleason called and left a message, he'd like you to call him back, and Natasha wants to see you before Christmas," Pepper informed him, tapping away on her BlackBerry.  "Tony, you were actually likeable for once, good job, guys, so far we're getting a lot of positive reviews..."

"I'll call Gleason when we get outside," Steve said, half a reminder to himself. They needed that solution before they went anywhere for the holidays. He pulled out his phone to text Nat and tugged a little at his tie. It was getting hot in the studio under the lights. The sooner they got out the better. 

"Aren't you Pepper Potts?" asked Danielle, turning her attention to Pepper while Steve unbuttoned his waistcoat.

"Yes, acting CEO and CFO of Stark Industries, and _his_ personal babysitter," said Pepper, inclining her head slightly toward Tony.

Tony was watching Pepper and Jeanette standing next to each other with a huge grin on his face.  They looked like sisters.

"Sounds like quite a feat. Must be exhausting," Danielle hummed. She pulled out a business card oh-so-casually and slipped it into Pepper's breast pocket. She winked. "Let me know if you want to grab a drink some time."

And then she sauntered off stage, leaving Pepper a little stunned. 

"What was that all about?" asked Aria.

"No idea," said Pepper.

"Can you smell something?" Boswell asked as he strolled past, still wearing the Santa hat.  He pulled a face. Banksy followed him, frowning a little.

"Like what?"

"Ah- never mind.  Stark, Rogers, are you two going to be joining us for dinner?"

"No way," said Tony, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  "We've got places to do and people to be.  Time waits for no man.  It's Christmas; we got sledding to do!"

"Snowboarding," corrected Steve. 

The two shared a grin like they'd just made a hilarious inside joke.

"We can't convince you to stay for a bit?" asked Banksy.

Tony eyed him for a moment, then shook his head.  "No way. I want to get my vacation started. Me and Steve have been planning this for months."  He wheeled around the pointed to Pepper. "Are you gonna call her?"

"What?"  Pepper blinked.  "Who, Danielle? I don't know, it might be nice to have Status Alliance work with Steve's charity--"

"That's not what I meant."

Pepper cocked her head.  An aide handed Tony a cup of ice and he happily began crunching it, pulling out his phone to check his messages.  "What'd you think Tasha wants? Think she's got presents for us?"

"It sounded more like official business," said Pepper.

Tony groaned a little.  He reached out without looking to find Steve's waist and put an arm around him.  His earlier ire was melting into affection. Their interview had been a good reminder of just how much he loved Steve and he wanted to hole up in the lodge with him, curl up in front of fire under a blanket with a couple of cups of cider, enjoy the season together.  Forget about charities and PR for a while.

He leaned over and nuzzled into Steve's neck again, nipping him lovingly.

"Well, you're certainly affectionate, aren't you?" said Pepper, watching him with a frown.

"Ice?" offered Tony.

"I've heard that eating ice is an indication of iron deficiency."

"Iron Man with an iron deficiency?  That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  I'm just cooling off, these lights are hell. Plus, Steve's like, a million degrees," said Tony, pressed against Steve's body.

Aria frowned and reached out to touch Steve's forehead.  She had to stand on her toes to do so because of his height.

"Call Gleason," Aria murmured to Pepper with sudden urgency as she sank back down onto the heels of her feet. "Pep, call him now."

Pepper understood, nodding as she pulled out her phone.

Steve frowned. "It's not- I would-"

"Steve," Aria said patiently. "You're literally burning up right now and Tony is all over you. We need to get you out of here.  And more importantly, let's get you away from other Alphas." She turned to an aide.  "Go alert Happy, our driver. We're leaving. "

Steve nodded dumbly. They shared quick and polite goodbyes and if Steve didn't shake Boswell's hand then nobody pointed it out. They all knew what was happening; everyone was just too polite to say it. The quicker Steve got out of there, the better.

Tony managed to steal a kiss from Banksy before Pepper frog-marched him out.

"Maybe we _should_ stay, c'mon, Pepper, I didn't even get Jeanette's digits--"

"And you won't because _she's not interested_ ," growled Pepper as Aria passed Steve a phone.

"Natasha." She explained. "Talk to her before you get too gooey."

Steve wasn't sure what she meant by 'gooey' but he took the offered phone anyway and held it to his ear. "Nat? Hey.  Are you okay? I'm afraid I won't be able to see you till after Christmas now, I think biology is catching up with me... we could do New Year's, maybe?"

"That was part of what I wanted to talk to you about.  Clint and Phil just went in to heat," said Natasha. "Steve, you have to be careful, it's really easy to-- give me a _moment--_ "  (Steve could hear Clint whining in the background.)  (He'd witnessed Phil once before in pre-heat and it was not a pretty sight.  Phil was a nester; he'd torn apart an entire room.) "--to get pregnant. Also we have the data that was on that computer, it looks like they already recreated the serum but it didn't work.  They had five Alphas go feral, no word on what happened to them but I think we can guess. There's none left, thank God. Also-- _Clint--_ "

A brief scuffle on the other line and Steve could imagine her dropping him and sitting on him.

"--also I have something for you.  It's not a Christmas present. It's something I think you'll want.  I'm at your place now. Clint and I have a safehouse we go to, as soon as I drop it off we're out of here.  ...and you might not want to let Tony see."

Tony was too distracted to be trying to listen.  He was looking at Pepper lovingly while she crammed him into the back of the SUV.

"Drink some water.  Stop looking at me like that," she snapped impatiently.

"I'm sorry, I just love it when you wear green," said Tony, grinning.

"You and me between then," said Pepper, to Aria.  Happy watched the whole thing with interest, not sure what it meant but more than involved in the proceedings.

"Show go okay?" he ventured.

"Great," confirmed Pepper.

"So good," Steve hummed as they got into the car and Nat disappeared on the other line. "Does anyone else feel really good right now?  About the show?  The show went really good."

He almost looked like he was high. He was shaking a little, like he'd had too much sugar. Steve's pupils were blown a little wide and his teeth almost chattered. Aria shoved a half eaten bagel into his mouth to stop him from biting his tongue. It was cheese and onion flavor, and it tasted sweet. He hummed in thanks and chewed on it slowly, staring out the window, thinking about how good the show had gone.

"Least we know why Tony was so obsessed with chasing skirt this morning," Aria sighed, her shoulders easing a little. Her rant to Pepper was long forgotten and hopefully wouldn't come up again. Steve had warned her he was due around Christmas but she hadn't expected it today. She was used to pairs who were more on top of this, but then, Steve's hadn't yet become regular. Seven months was longer than the usual omega would go between heats.

Steve's phone pinged with a text from Nat. Gleason had just arrived at the house. Thank goodness. No pregnancy, hopefully. Steve didn't want that right now. He wanted to kick HYDRA's goddamn ass.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed to no one in particular.

"Happy," Pepper glanced over to see the bagel was almost devoured. "Please _hurry_."

"Yeah, hurry.  ...race that guy!" demanded Tony as they pulled up to a light with a silver BMW next to them.

"Don't," said Pepper.  "Tony. I need you to focus.  Steve's obvious in pre-heat--"

"Great," said Tony, playing with his phone.

"--no, not great, Tony... _Tony_."

Tony looked up but his gaze was fixed on Steve.  "...where did Steve get that bagel? Do I get a bagel?"

"Yes, you can have a bagel when we get home."

The entire ride was clearly taxing on both Pepper's and Aria's patience.  Tony was overly enthusiastic and energetic. He didn't respond to anything Pepper said, at least not directly.  Happy kept looking at them in the rearview mirror, fascinated. As a beta, he didn't get much opportunity to see this sort of thing in action.  Steve and Tony were both acting like they were on drugs. Pepper put down the window and Tony huffed the air happily.

By the time they got to the house, Steve's hair was soaking wet and Tony was literally shaking with pent-up energy.

"I'm gonna go surfing now," he announced, fighting to open the door and practically falling out of the car.

"No, you're not," said Pepper.

"I need to go test out the Mark VI."

"Tony, no."

"I bet I could catch that peacock."

" _No, Tony._ "

Steve was still trembling as he got out of the car. It was like he was drunk or something. No. This felt better. When Aria grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the house he moved easily, despite his size. He was pliant right now; it came with the pre-heat phase. He was rambling about something in French. An old poem that Falsworth taught him. It was something flamboyant about death and war and it was all very meaningful, Steve assured her when Aria said she had no idea what he was on about.

"I've never seen a heat come on this fast," said Aria worriedly.

"It's Steve.  His metabolism is like a hummingbird's," replied Pepper, who had one hand on Tony's arm.  "The last one he had came on like this, too.  At least this time we're at home."

"Home," echoed Tony, looking at Steve longingly.

Steve stared back at him and smiled.  "Yeah," he repeated.  "...home."


	17. Steve's Heat, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a long and very ~spicy~ chapter.

Aria dragged Steve through the front doors while Pepper snagged Tony's sleeve; both were too agitated to focus properly on verbal instructions. Some scuffling could be heard from the kitchen the moment they entered the front door.  

"Oh Jesus," muttered Aria as she crossed the wide, open living room (still covered in orchids) and peered into the kitchen.

Clint was trying to scale the fridge, exclaiming something about it being coldest on top, while Natasha tried to get him down. Gleason sat at the other end of the room at the table, clutching his bag a little tighter than necessary, looking mildly curious.

"You have very interesting friends, Captain," Gleason said. Even in a preheat, it seemed Clint was eccentric.

"They're great. I love them. They're awesome," Steve said, his eyes too bright.

Aria let go of Steve and pushed him towards a chair. "Do you have the thing? So he won't get knocked up?"

Natasha had tied a bandanna over her face; Tony snorted.  "What, are you going to rob a stagecoach later?" he asked, hackles rising immediately.

"It helps," she said flatly.

Pepper reached up to try to flatten the hair on the back of Tony's neck.  "Tony. Natasha's just here to wish you Merry Christmas and then she'll go."

Natasha held up a thin manila folder and a small cardboard box that looked like it might contain a necklace; the contents rattled.  "Steve. These are for you."

Tony's hair bristled even more.  "Is that a collar? Are you trying to collar my omega?" he demanded.

Natasha gave him a weird look.  "Tony, no one collars omegas anymore."

"I want a collar!" demanded Clint suddenly.

"No, you don't, you're just in heat," said Natasha with practiced patience, shoving the folder and the box into Steve's hands.  "Rogers. Listen to me. Focus on me for a second. Some of the information in there is going to be tough to digest. There's a picture of his arm.  So just... prepare yourself before you open it, okay?" She tapped the box. "SHIELD doesn't know about this. Let's keep it that way. Clint? You ready to go?"

"I like it here," said Clint, perched on top of the fridge.

"Wouldn't you rather be with your wi--"

Tony looked over, curious.

"--WiFi?"

Clint looked confused.

Steve shook the box curiously. He narrowed his eyes at it and then sniffed at it. "What the hell is in here?" He asked, rattling again and listening closely as if the very box itself might whisper the answer to him.  "Arm? What..." Steve wasn't really understanding; he was too far gone. It was a miracle he wasn't on top of the fridge with Clint.

Wait. Did she mean Bucky? Ew. He didn't want to think about Bucky right now.

"Dr. Gleason?" prompted Pepper, sounding more than a bit desperate.

The doctor shifted a little uncomfortably.  "Well. I've been working closely with SHIELD and we have... a partial solution."

"Partial," repeated Pepper, sounding exceedingly disappointed.

"Is that the orchid Boswell and Backsy gave you?" asked Clint from atop the fridge, eyeing the little orchid in Tony's hands.

"Yeah, isn't it great?" asked Tony, beaming at it as if he wasn't currently surrounded by a hundred other plants.

Clint made grabby hands at it. "I want it," he said. "I can smell it from here. It smells great."

"Partial?" Aria echoed. "What do you mean by partial? Will it work or won't it? Because it's too late to try and separate these two now..."

"The problem is, he's been building up a tolerance to inducers for months now.  We've developed a suppressant, but we can't guarantee it works, and with his metabolism, it will only be effective for about an hour at a time.  So he'll have to take it continuously," said Dr. Gleason. "And that's really the best we can do."

"It's mine," said Tony, clutching the orchid.

"Just let me see it," begged Clint.

"No."

"What's Boswell like?"

"He's nice."

"I knew he was nice.  Can I see the orchid now?"

"No."

"Just to be safe, we also recommend taking levonorgestrel after mating.  10 mg."

"That's more than six times the recommended dose," said Pepper.

Gleason shrugged helplessly.  "We're doing the best we can, but... his body is resistant to most medications.  Short of poisoning him, we can't really guarantee he won't get pregnant."

"Okay, okay, great, can we go on vacation now?" demanded Tony, clearly not listening.  He picked up a bottle of wine from the bar and poured it, then looked up at where Clint was perched on top of the fridge.  "You want some cabernet, gargoyle?"

Natasha growled suddenly.  Tony looked over, alarmed. "You can have some, too..."

"If we set alarms on his phone, they might actually do it," Aria sighed and took Steve's phone out of his back pocket without asking. It was fine. He was more interested by Clint on the fridge and Tony bickering. He frowned.

"I thought the orchid was for _me_. Isn't that how it works? I'm confused. Has someone been lying to me?  These are my orchids, aren't they?"

Tony felt the pang of sadness from his omega and he was at his side in an instant, nuzzling into him.  "Yeah, you can have it, it's your orchid," he reassured him, dragging his tongue over Steve's neck. Steve was hot, as if he'd been pressed up against a heater or something. 

"Steve?  Do you understand that you're going to be taking some levonorgestrel and that that it can cause cramping and dizziness?  I want you to call me if you're having trouble with the side effects," said Gleason.

"What's lenvorwora-what?" he asked, turning around.

"It's the mornin- after pill, Steve," Aria filled in.

Steve frowned again, looking so genuinely sad it almost hurt to look at. He didn't like those. Why were they making him take those? "But my whelps," he said.

"Right, you don't want whelps," said Aria.

"I... don't?"  Steve looked baffled.

"Do you think they can go on vacation?" Pepper asked the doctor quietly. "Or do they have to stay here? I'm not sure they should travel like this..."

"If you would just _come down_ I could take you home!" Natasha was struggling to negotiate with Clint, who was whining that he wanted to go home but making no move to get down from his perch.

"I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you water if you come down!"

"Frankly, no, neither of them should be traveling unescorted.  His heats come on a lot faster than normal. A typical pre-heat lasts a few days; his lasts twenty-four hours, tops.  If he goes into full heat before they get somewhere safe then..." Dr. Gleason gave a shrug.

Pepper looked at Aria with alarm.  "So, what, does one of us drag them up to the lodge or can we just leave them here?"

"Stop talking about us like we're not here!" said Tony suddenly.  "It's not like being around a couple of omegas in pre-heat turns me into a fucking moron, you know, I can understand everything you're saying."

"Tony.  You tore your shirt off," said Natasha.

Tony looked down.  "...I meant to do that," he said.

"I like your chest," said Clint.

"Thank you, Barton.  I built it myself," said Tony, crossing his arms over his arc reactor.

"I'll show you just how much I like you being on that fridge if you don't get down right now Clint," Natasha warned, somehow still managing to look scary even with a banana wrapped around her face.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest as if to make a point.

Natasha sighed. "If you come down now I'll do the... _thing_ you like. Promise. _"_

Steve was peering at the box again, trying to pry off the lid. But it was hard because his fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

"Does that mean his heat won't last as long too?" Aria asked hopefully.  Gleason shrugged.

"We'll have to wait and see about that."

Steve leaned into Tony's touch when he felt his tongue on his neck again. "I like that," he whispered. "You should do that some more."

"Oh my God," Aria groaned. "I don't want to see this. Please say we can just leave them here."

"What's in the box?" asked Tony eagerly, slipping his hands over Steve's, tonguing the hollow of his throat.

Pepper cleared her throat loudly.  "Boys. Are you okay with skipping the lodge?"

"No, I go to the lodge every year," insisted Tony.  "I need snow on Christmas... it's tradition... what's in the box?"

"Come on, Clint.  Down. We've got to go," insisted Natasha, holding out her arms.  "We'll grab a bag of ice on the way. Come on."

"Pepper can drive us.  Hey! Pepper, you can come with us after all!  We could have a threesome!"

"No, Tony."

"No, look, it'll be great, Steve's never stuck his dick into anything--"

"How much does he pay you?" asked Aria incredulously.

"A quarter-million a year with full benefits and all incidentals covered," said Pepper.  "And normally he's not quite this bad. ...I'll see if Happy is willing to take them up, it's about two and a half hours away."

"What's in the box?"

Natasha had finally managed to coax Clint down and was half-dragging, half-carrying him out.  "Steve, Tony, we're going. Try not to do anything you'll regret when you come out of it.  Happy holidays." Clint stretched toward the orchid on the counter with a whine; Natasha pulled him away.  "Okay, Farsight, I've got you, we're going home right now...." she said soothingly. "Oh, and Stark? If you fill a bandanna with coffee beans and wrap it around your nose, it really helps with the smell."

"I don't need help," snarled Tony defensively, glaring at her, hair standing up.

"You'll want to take a break, trust me."

"I don't need help!" repeated Tony, hackles raised and upper lip curled.

She rolled her eyes.  "Virginia, would you tell him?"

"I'll take care of it," said Pepper.

"I don't like snow," blurted Steve suddenly.  "I don't like cold.  I died in it once, you know."  His voice dropped to a whisper as his fingers became focused on the task at hand. He huffed in annoyance. "Natasha! Your box is broken!"

"No it's not!" Natasha replied as they left in a sing-song voice.

"Threesomes sound stressful," Steve added. "Someone will always get left out. And that's always _me_.  _I'm_ the one who always ends up freezing on the fire escape..."

For some reason Steve had gone from manically happy to sad in a matter of seconds. Maybe it was because he couldn't get the box open. Yes. That must be it.

"I don't know if I can get them in the car like that," Happy said as he stood in the doorway, having been beckoned with a text from Pepper. "Without seatbelts on it's not safe."

"Steve could rip his easily," Aria hummed. "Welp. We can't sedate them. What now?"

"No, no, it's easy, you just have one person in the middle," Tony was explaining to STeve.  "You take one end, I take the other, and-- Steve, gimme that box, you're doing it wrong, here."  He plucked the box out of Steve's hands and opened it, immediately dropping the contents on to the floor.  Sure enough, it was a necklace with a pair of dogtags. Tony felt rather disappointed. He had hoped for something more exciting.

"I think we just have to let this run its course," said Pepper, frowning.

"Welp, Merry Christmas!" said Happy, turning and making for the door.

Pepper reached out and grabbed him.  "No one's leaving until we're sure they're safe.  Doctor, did you bring the suppressants?"

Dr. Gleason heaved up his bag.  "I have enough here for six days, which should be more than enough.  Every hour, on the hour. And one morning-after pill every ten to twelve hours.  It's not a guarantee but it's better than nothing."

"What about when he's sleeping?" asked Aria.

Dr. Gleason gave her a pitying look.  "We don't really sleep during heats."

Tony was ignoring them, nuzzling Steve's shoulder, caressing his arms.  Steve felt so hot, so luscious. Yet sad, too. Tragically sad. Tony didn't know why but he wanted to comfort him, wanting to fold him up and hold him and make him feel better.  He'd already decided the best place to do that was in the lounge on the second floor. It was smaller than the bedroom, small and comfortable.

Steve bent down to pick up the dog tags. He looked them over in confusion and then sadness tugged at his chest. He dropped them on the counter like he'd been burned. How had she... hadn't they been on his body when he fell? Where on earth would Natasha have gotten them from?

But now Nat had left, and such answers with her.

Aria grabbed a box of pills and waved them in front of Steve's face. "Steve! Listen carefully. You have to take one of these an hour, okay? I've set alarms on your phone. This is very important. Steve, do you understand?"

"Every hour. No baby. Got it!" Steve repeated, his eyes glassy. He didn't feel sad, all of a sudden; he just felt shy. He felt like curling on himself in the corner of the room and hiding his head in his arms.  "Tony," Steve whined. "I don't like it in here.  Can we go to the lodge now?  I want ice.  Please.  I'm too hot.  I want ice.

"Then we'll go somewhere else," said Tony with alarm.  He wheeled around.  "EVERYONE OUT!" he yelled.

"Tony.  Make sure Steve takes--" began Pepper.

"Out!  Out!"  Tony wrapped his arms around Steve, leading-dragging him toward the steps.

"Wait!  You forgot--" cried Aria, waving the box at them.

Tony guided Steve up the sweeping staircase and into the second-story lounge, dropping him onto a couch and pulling several throws over him with a look of intense concentration.  "Stay," he commanded, before walking back downstairs.

"Tony," said Pepper with relief.  "Did you hear the instructions?  Steve needs to take one of these blue pills every hour and ten of these every twelve."

"Uh-huh," said Tony distractedly, dumping ice into a pan.

"Tony?"

"Steve needs ice."

"Yes, and _these pills_ ," said Pepper, pressing the pack into his hand.

"This sort of behavior is actually very common," said Dr. Gleason reassuringly.

"I thought I told you to leave?" snapped Tony.  "Except you, Pepper, you can stay."

"No thanks," she said, rolling her eyes.

Tony bent down to scoop the dogtags off the floor and then went back upstairs without another word.

"...it's sort of gross, isn't it?" said Happy after a moment.  "Glad I'm a beta."

"Harry, don't say that in front of him," snapped Pepper, gesturing to Dr. Gleason.

"It's alright," said Dr. Gleason.  "No one ever said biology is pretty.  I don't think any omega would claim that heats are exactly pleasant."  He rose.  "Well.  Let's keep our fingers crossed that it works."

"If it doesn't?" asked Aria.

He shrugged a little.  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said.

Upstairs, Tony slipped into the lounge, closed the door behind him, and settled next to Steve.  "I got you ice.  And medicine.  And this necklace," he said, setting then on the floor beside the couch.  Steve's smell was making his mouth water.  "...you gonna be okay?"

"Mhm. I just want the ice. Mph. Please," Steve murmured and squirmed on the sofa. He was still in his jeans and shirt, his waistcoat open. The tie had been taken off at some point downstairs; Steve himself didn't remember doing it.

He was breathing a little heavily, his cheeks pink as he stared up at the ceiling. Steve turned into the touch when Tony pressed a cube of ice against his forehead and sighed in relief.

"I'm okay," Steve whispered and finally let his gaze drift back to Tony's face. He swallowed. "I just...I just..."  He reached up and his fingertips ghosted over Tony's cheek. "I just wanna be good for you," he whispered.

Tony beamed at him.  "You are, you're so good, you're my omega... I'm going to protect you, don't worry, you're safe here."  He offered Steve a chip of ice with one hand, his other playing with the waistband of Steve's pants. "It's just us," he said softly.  Steve's head lolled as he trailed ice over him. Steve was sweating despite the air-conditioning, shivering violently; Tony had already shoved every blanket in the room over to him, so that he was cocooned in them on the edge of the couch.

"Can I get you anything?" asked Tony eagerly, feeding Steve another ice chip.  He was desperate to please Steve. "Do you need any more pillows? Water? I brought your necklace. Do you want that? Are you warm enough? I can turn on the air conditioning more.  Do you want me to turn on music?"

His whole body was quivering with the anticipation.  He wanted to create the perfect environment around them and then fuck Steve stupid in said environment.

It was common knowledge that Alphas got overly obsequious during pre-heats, while omegas got nest-focused.  Some more than others. A nest could be anything from a room to a bed to an elaborate shrine of blankets and papers.  Steve, at least, didn't seem like the destructive type, unlike Phil. If Tony had the where-with-all, he would have been thankful that Natasha peeled Clint out of the kitchen before he could decide the top of his fridge was a good nesting spot.

Steve's phone went off.

Tony's eyes narrowed at it.  "Who's that? Is that Natasha?" he demanded, hair prickling at the potential threat.

Steve lifted up his phone with some struggle and blinked at the screen. "It says blue pill? I think you have to give me medicine, Tony," he murmured.

His phone then slipped from his fingers when he shivered and clattered to the floor. Fortunately, it was a StarkTech phone, so it didn't break.  Besides, it had a case, one that had been custom-made by Clint; it read "My Patriotism Brings All the Boys to the Yard."  Steve still didn't understand why Clint thought it was funny but he appreciated the gift.

"I just want water and..." Steve tilted his head back with a soft sigh. "I want... Ludivco Einaudi; can you put him on? I like him."

He'd first heard him in Nick's car when he'd been driving Steve to see some new jet they'd built. He told him it was his 'quiet day artist.' Steve couldn't really imagine Fury on non-quiet days; even his quiet days seemed to have an undercurrent of constant tension.

"I can't...I c-can't work out if I'm hot or cold," Steve frowned up at the ceiling. "Am I getting frostbite? Tony. Tony I don't want frostbite. Please...."

"JARVIS!" yelled Tony, nearly tripping over himself to get Steve all the things he'd requested.  "Play some Einaudi!"

He grabbed the box of pills off the table and fumbled with it, but managed to shove a blue one into Steve's hand and a bottle of water into the other.

He froze as piano music filled the room.  "I... I know this," he said uncertainly. The track currently playing was vaguely familiar (Was it _Divenire?_ ) and he felt like, sometime before Obadiah's death, he must have played it on the grand piano downstairs.  It made Tony feel uneasy. He hadn't played the piano since Obadiah's death.

He settled back down next to Steve, slipping the dogtags around his neck and pulled Steve's shaking hands into his.  "You don't have frostbite. Look around, Steve, look, there's an orchid, they're tropical. You've got all these blankets, see?  You're warm and cozy. Take these off, I'll keep you warm." He tugged at Steve's waistband again.

With shaky hands Steve got the pill in his mouth and gulped it down with two mouthfuls of water. He downed the bottle and then crumpled it before dropping it onto the floor. Steve was trembling a little less now.

"...I like drawing to it," Steve hummed with a half-smile. He liked to exercise to pumping and hyped-up music; he found that the sixties and nineties had had some fantastic pop music.  But to draw he liked softer sounds... he liked to take his time. Steve hoped the soft music would will his heat to take its time, too.  "No...no frostbite," Steve echoed, brow taught in concentration as he flexed his fingers under Tony's hand. Yes. He could feel them. It was okay. Steve let out a shaky breath and his eyes slipped shut in relief. "None."

Steve grunted and lifted his hips up, letting Tony drag his jeans down.

"I don't want women," said Steve suddenly, unprompted.  "You do.  You're the one who wants women.  I just want _you_ , Alpha."

"I wouldn't leave you behind," replied Tony quietly.  "I just want you to know what sex feels like from the other end.  Me and you could have anyone in the world we wanted, you know. Any woman would be happy to have us."  He brushed a lock of Steve's hair from his face, then trailed a hand down the beaded chain around his neck, playing with the dogtags.  He liked the way they looked on Steve's broad chest. A reminder that he was a soldier. It was nice of Natasha to bring Steve his old tags; Tony had thought they were at the Smithsonian.

Tony lovingly unwrapped Steve's trembling, gleaming body, his fingers trailing over the skin.  "Good omega... sweet omega..." he murmured. This was nothing like the frustration of Monaco. Steve was here with him.  Tony was panting a little with anticipation but he felt no need to show off. There were no other Alphas, no competition.  It was just the two of them.

Steve's clothes dropped to the floor, along with Tony's.  He fed Steve another ice chip, liking the water Steve's lips sucked it off his fingers.

The piano music washed around them as Tony cuddled closer to Steve to nuzzle his neck, taste the hollow of his neck and his collar bones, smelling him, learning him all over again.

Steve shivered as Tony peeled away the last of his clothes. He curled into his touches, his eyes glazed over as he tried to track his Alpha's movements. But it was hard. He felt fuzzy at his fingertips and toes. It was like he was floating.

The praise washed over him comfortingly. It made Steve feel calm.

Steve sighed quietly with a lopsided smile. "I don't want anyone else; I don't wanna feel it from the other end.  I like being an omega.  I just... I just want... just you," he whispered and reached down to grab the dogtags. "These. Don't want these- why did you- where did they come from..." He suddenly looked upset. Steve fiddled and sat up and dropped them on the floor before he tilted his head up to kiss along Tony's jaw.

...maybe it was because Steve was old fashioned. Especially an omega, in the forties, wouldn't sleep with anyone but his Alpha.  Not ever. Or at least, he _shouldn't_. And Steve was happy with that. And he felt very happy now.

Bucky was not his Alpha.  Tony was his Alpha.  His _only_ Alpha.

"Please. Tony. Tell me how to be good for you..." He pawed at his chest. "Please."

Tony was confused about why Steve wouldn't want to wear his dogtags (he thought they looked sort of hot) but didn't protest.  He climbed into Steve's lap and took Steve's hands, guiding them between his legs. "You're already good... so good..." he purred, kissing Steve's lips.  "Feel that? That's for you... I'm going to mate you, Steve... I'm going to make sure you're all filled up with my knot... go ahead and use me however you like... I'm all yours."  He licked at Steve's skin, tasting his sweat, enjoying this. His brain was slowly going into that weird static mode he'd felt in the plane. Steve's smell was warm and rich and familiar and made him both exhilarated and sleepy.  He was already stiff. He had a vague idea that he should go get condoms but he didn't want to leave Steve and he doubted he would remember to use them by the time Steve's heat was in full swing.

He licked at Steve's collarbone, then dipped a little lower to run his tongue over one of Steve's nipples, his fingers tracing the outline of Steve's stomach.

Steve felt head as Tom guided his hands down and around his cock. He stroked him slowly, his expression one of awe as he felt his own member twitch. He felt wet between his thighs and shivered. Steve looked up at him with dark eyes, lips parted. Suddenly the blankets around them felt too hot.

"Mine," Steve murmured and reached up to touch Tony's face softly before he moved to straddle Tony's lap. He curled his hands over the curves of his shoulders, letting the curve of his ass brush against Tony's arousal.  "...after this I'm gonna wanna sleep," Steve murmured and nudged against the curve of his jaw. "And then when we wake up it will have started. Properly."

"Mm'k," said Tony, arching up into Steve, feeling his slickness.  He pushed himself, pushing up, sighing with satisfaction. Steve sheathed him so nicely.  His knot was tight and bulging around and he was looking forward to plugging Steve up. He looked up to brush a hand over Steve's face.  "This is your heat, so anything you want special, you let me know, okay?" He leaned forward to kiss the corner of Steve's mouth. "I'm your Alpha.  I'm going to take care of you." He bit Steve's lower lip, jutting his hips upward, trying to get more of himself into the blond. Steve was in his lip, legs wrapped around him, and Tony could feel his knot at Steve's entrance, Steve's body stretching against him.  Steve's erection was touching his stomach, rubbing against his skin. "Good boy," he murmured into Steve's mouth, not wanting to break their kiss. His tongue licked around Steve's mouth. It was new all over again. They'd been having sex for seven months but this was far more intense than anything from before.  And the promise of more of it to come, harder, was thrilling. Tony had never had an omega in heat and he couldn't fucking wait.

Steve gasped softly as Tony filled him up. He felt half conscious, his brain going off line as Tony rocked up into him. He curled his arms around his shoulders and nuzzled close, nose dragging along Tony's jawline before he pressed his forehead against his shoulder. "Special. Hm. Okay." Steve hummed with a lazy smile as he circled his hips around him once, testing the waters as he clenched around him. There was no burn without any preparation; Steve's body was slick and eager.  It had done its own preparation. This was certainly different. Steve liked it, liked it a lot.

He tilted his head back up to kiss him at the guide of Tony's hand and nuzzled their noses together before Steve tilted their mouths together, slanting them in a kiss. He shivered and circled his hips slowly again before he beginning to rock up and down. "You're special," Steve whispered against his lips when they parted for air. "You...make me feel...special..." He ran his hands down his biceps. Steve almost sounded like he was talking to himself. "No one else ever did."

"You're special... you're my omega... I chose you and you're mine," purred Tony, leaning back onto the pile of blankets as Steve wiggled his hips and began riding him.  He felt the knot squeeze into Steve and let out a small, understated gasp as Steve began pumping him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

This had always been his favorite position, lying lazily in bed while a woman rode him.  Steve's body was wet and tight and overly warm, and all of the sensations were nearly overwhelming.  He reached out to play with Steve's erection, running his thumb back and forth over the foreskin, lazily watching the way it went back and forth over the head.  Tony had become intimately familiar with Steve's penis over the last half-year. Tony was average-sized for an Alpha and he had to admit it was a little disconcerting to know that Steve, an omega, was probably about the same size as him.  Steve had a foreskin but no knot, but aside from that, they were pretty evenly matched. He wondered if Steve ever compared them.

His hands trailed down to cup Steve's balls, roll them around a bit, gently; Steve was still eagerly riding Tony; Tony waited for him to clench against before grasping his member again to jerk it.  They'd gotten good, really good, at coordinating their orgasms, something Tony considered was evidence of a strong relationship.

He wiggled his knot deeper into Steve.  "You want it?" he purred, stroking Steve, watching the omega arch and whimper.

Steve always whimpered when he first took him. Nothing could ever really prepare him for a knot; it stretched him out for a reason but his hips only faltered for a moment before he picked up his rhythm again. Steve kept it firm and thorough as he rose up and down on his Alpha, head tilted just right so his back arced almost prettily. His hands clenched the sofa back over Tony's head but the pace was so slow so there was no risk of Steve tearing it.  (He had done so multiple times. If Pepper noticed that the sofa colors kept changing, she didn't comment.)

When his thighs began to quiver he knew he was getting closer. Steve squirmed happily as Tony played with him and stroked him, whining a little too as he rocked up into his touch with eagerness.

A gasp escaped his lips as Tony pushed deeper in and pressed against that sweet spot inside of him. Steve moaned loudly, fingers digging in to sofa fabric as he clenched around him in approval. "Y-Yes. Fuck. I want it. Please Tony," he begged, voice sweet as he sank down again, his hips struggling to rise back up. He didn't want to leave him. Steve felt quite content to stay seated on him for the moment.

"All yours," gasped Tony, tensing.  "All yours..." He arched into his omega, hips stuttering and jerking, spilling his seed into him.  He sank back into the couch, Steve still sitting on top of him, his cock twitching as it pumped the last few strings of semen into him.  Tony smiled up lazily.

Steve was still hot, his smell sweet and warm and complex and inviting.  Tony had no intention of moving. He felt wonderful like this, with Steve closed up around his knot, feeling every little twitch from the other man.  Steve was wonderfully responsive, his cock throbbing in Tony's hand, his hole clenched around the base of Tony's length.

Four or five days of uninterrupted fucking beat snowboarding any day.  Tony gave Steve a couple of sharp thrusts to push him over the edge.

Steve whimpered at the sensation as he was filled, his body clenching around Tony in response as he trembled on top of him with pleasure. He leaned his forehead against Tony's, their breaths mingling as their bodies sealed together. He groaned low in his throat as Tony thrust up inside of him and teased at that perfect spot. He tensed against him and came over Tony's hand and his own chest, panting a little as he rode out his orgasm with small undulations of his hips.

Eventually he stilled, his body satisfied.  For now. Steve slumped down against the sofa. "Mmph. It doesn't work as well like this," he mumbled and rolled them over so Tony was on top of him and he was in the blankets. Because Steve was taller it was uncomfortable for him to slot against Tony easily when the alpha was inside of him too.

It was quiet for a few minutes and then Steve spoke up. "I just...I just realized I haven't wrapped your present yet."

Tony blinked.  "You got me a present?  But I don't need anything," he said, stroking Steve's hair.  "I'm rich, and I got you." He stretched a little, feeling himself twitch inside of Steve and Steve's body respond in turn.  He smiled a little. "...it's not another orchid, is it?" He kissed Steve's temple and settled down on top of him for a nap.

"It's not about needing something," Steve mumbled with a smile. He let his eyes slip shut, savouring Tony's touch. "But no, it's not another orchid. Although that would have been funny.  I wish I'd thought of that," he hummed and ran a hand down Tony's bicep absentmindedly. "Would have been hard to wrap anyway, I guess..."

Tony must have drifted off for a few minutes; the next thing he knew Steve's phone was going off again.  He reached for it, batting it to the floor. He realized in an instant that he was still on top of Steve, that Steve was feverish, that his cock was painfully swollen inside of Steve and that Steve was writhing under him, panting soft little pleas.

Tony let out a noise of surprise.  He wasn't even fully awake yet but already his hips were moving, thrusting into Steve.  Steve's whole body was tight, rigid with a sort of desperation, like he was tensing from pain, but that wasn't in; the whole room was thick with his scent.

 _Holy shit_ , Tony managed to think.

Steve was half conscious, half stuck in a dream. He felt hot all over and he was shaking. It wasn't a good or a bad shake but his hands wouldn't stay still. There was something heavy on top of him, no, _someone_. And they were inside of him too. Steve clenched around him automatically and shuddered in relief at the sensation. Yes, _that._ He needed more of that. Fuck.

"Fuck," he said out loud.

Then Tony thrust up into him and Steve whined happily. It felt like he could finally breathe. "Tony. _Tony_. Please. I need you. I need you now," he chanted, eyes fluttering open to see a blurry room and a blurry Alpha on top of him.

Tony grunted in reply, moving hard and fast on top of Steve.

Steve's phone was still going off from the floor.

Tony didn't care.  Nothing short of a nuclear blast could have stopped him.  Steve's smell enveloped him; Tony was biting his neck and the taste was incredible; Steve was so juicy, so impossibly wet and squishy and tight and every thrust of Tony's hips made him see stars.  Steve was so wet and pliant that Tony was able to move the knot in and out and the sensation was incredible; it came out with a wet pop and the feeling of Steve's entrance tightening over it again and again was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Tony was panting, growling, occasionally found himself holding his breath and almost forgetting to breathe; he shuddered on top of Steve, cumming all over again, all the while listening to Steve's whines and the sound of his name and the persistent, shrill, beeping alarm from Steve's phone on the ground.

Steve had to reach up and grip the arm to stop Tony from pushing him off entirely. He was so focused on his task. "Tony." His voice was strained and shaky. "Tony, my-" Steve let out breathy noise of pleasure and threw his head back as his Alpha fucked into him. His neck was exposed just perfectly for Tony to lean down and mark him as his hips drove in and out at a pace Steve honestly hadn't known he was capable of.

It was like his body was singing, calling to him. Steve felt like he was on fire, every part of his body tingling and as Tony thrust into him- _oh,_ it felt so good. It like Steve was made just for this, his body accepting him like it _needed_ him, and it felt like he did. Steve whined loudly as he was filled, aware of that sensation and little else. His body tensed and his back arced up and Steve only realised he'd come to when he felt the wetness of his stomach. He squirmed beneath him, looking at his Alpha with a dazed expression like he was only just now seeing him for the first time.

Tony blinked suddenly and grabbed up the phone.

_Blue pill._

"Fuck," said Tony out loud.  They were one hour in and they'd almost already missed the first one.  Tony swiped for the box of pills and practically crammed one into Steve's mouth.  "Swallow," he commanded, hips still squirming.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise at the pill but he swallowed it obediently without a second thought.

"You feel good, Alpha," Steve whispered, mouthing at the fingers that had once held the pill between his lips.  "So good."  His blue eyes flickered up to watch Tony's expression as he did so and the glint in his very own eyes was practically sinful.

Tony moaned at the feeling of Steve's mouth of his fingers, sucking at his skin.  It occurred to him, with equal parts excitement and horror, that Steve would do pretty much anything he asked right now.  Steve was looked at him with a glazed, doe-eyed expression, wiggling his hips even though Tony was currently flaccid, jerking and arching and whimpering.  He'd already orgasmed twice and he was already partially hard again.

Tony reached over with his free hand, caressing Steve's face while he suckled at Tony's fingers.  "Who's my good omega?" he cooed softly. "That's it, good boy... you're doing great, you're pleasing your Alpha... you're such a sweet, obedient omega, I'm so proud of you," he said.  He was willing to admit already that he was in over his head.

Steve was writhing under him in desperation and he'd already cum twice in an hour and Steve clearly wanted more and Tony had no idea how many mortal man was supposed to keep up with this for the course of several days.

Also he was wondering what the fuck Natasha's "special thing" was.

"I think you look so hot when you're wearing nothing but your dog tags," added Tony, tracing Steve's chest, which was gleaming with sweat.

Steve purred at the praise as he tilted his head into Tony's touch, mouth sinking down further onto his fingers in the process. He was barely coherent enough to speak now anyway and it felt good to have something in his mouth.

He'd used to shove his fingers in his mouth when he'd occasionally touched himself in his shared apartment with Bucky. Steve had always wanted to keep quiet and hoped that the other wouldn't notice. He wanted to think of Steve as pure, not committing dirty acts...but sometimes he'd just gotten so frustrated...

Well, there was little danger of that happening now.

Steve reached up to touch Tony's face as if he was checking he was really there. If he understood what his Alpha had said about the dogtags, then he didn't respond to it, Tony's fingers still in his mouth. Steve hummed, half to himself and then clenched around him in a silent demand.

The first day would be Steve's most demanding. Then his body would slow down a little, although only a little. And by the last he would be sore and tired and spend most of it sleeping, thank God. Of course, Steve had never experienced this properly before but he'd read a lot about it. And Clint, being the sweetheart he was, had written him a quick guide to heats, a pamphlet he'd snagged at a doctor's office that looked like it was geared toward teens. Not that Steve was really thinking about anything aside from Tony's dick inside of him right that moment.

He clenched around him again with a soft huff.

Tony let out a small hiss at the feeling of Steve clenching.  _Demanding._

He began rocking his hips into Steve.  At least he had the knot to keep him satisfied until he could get hard again.  He made a mental note to sneak away and get some damned Viagra or something. Steve's eyes were half-closed and he was lovingly sucking Tony's fingers, his tongue swirling over the fingertips in ecstasy.  Tony had to admit it was very sensuous. Steve's smell alone was making him a lot more responsive than normal; he could feel himself twitching weakly inside Steve, his body desperately wanting more.

(Another question bubbled to the back of Tony's mind: how did Natasha do it?  When Clint presented himself, did she just ram a dildo into him or what?)

He couldn't stay focused long enough to come up with any alternative explanation because he got a strong whiff of Steve's musk and his mind was static again and he was grabbing Steve's hips and fucking him as hard as he could (wait, when had he gotten hard again?) and he could hear a phone beeping somewhere and his thrusts were in time to the alarm, it was wonderful, magical, and Steve was practically trying to swallow his hand, the two of them were covered in sweat and semen and Tony's knot was aching wonderfully with the tug of Steve's body and he wasn't even sure if he had any semen left to give him but he didn't care about that because he was coming undone all over again on top of his omega with breathy laughter and happy little growls and nips of pleasure.

Steve's legs ended up curled over Tony's shoulders as he thrust into him again, meaning he was practically bent in half as Tony fucked inside. The serum meant he was flexible though, in many ways...much of which Tony hadn't even really seen. He still had to grip onto the sofa for support, his biceps bulging and quivering with effort as Tony ruined him. It felt so good. So _fucking_ good. Steve was letting out high pitched little sounds mixed with curses, sounds he certainly wouldn't ever let anyone hear but Tony.

He tilted his hips up and then it was angled just right and Steve cried out at the sensations as Tony gave him everything he wanted. He shivered beneath him in want, blue eyes so dark they were almost black, and came without realising it again. Steve moaned quietly when Tony came undone himself and filled him up so wonderfully.

Steve couldn't even really hear the alarm. He was too focused on Tony and Tony inside of him and how awesome and perfect that felt.

For a moment, the two of them lay there, panting.

"Shit," said Tony suddenly, reaching over to grab the alarm to silence it.

 _Blue pill,_ said the phone.

If Tony had had the ability to feel anything aside from lust, he would have been panicking.  They were not doing a fantastic job of keeping up with the pill regimen yet. They were ten minutes behind this time.  Would ten minutes matter? Should Steve take two to be sure? Could they hire a beta or something to just... stand by and cram pills into Steve while they were fucking?

Tony shoved the bottle of pills at him.  "Take one," he managed. He wanted to feel panic but it was impossible to feel anything except for the desire to mate.  There were no other Alphas, no threats, and Tony's aggression was being channeled into lust, a desire to mate Steve, to _wreck_ him, to fill him so full that even if another Alpha tried to take him it would be impossible because Tony would have already thoroughly used him.

He should've gotten the damn vasectomy.

Weren't heats supposed to have a couple of lulls?  Tony wasn't an expert but he was pretty sure there were typically a few periods where the omega calmed down at least enough to get some water, go to the bathroom, carry on a conversation that didn't include pleas for more dick.

Steve frowned at the pill bottle for several minutes before he understood what he was supposed to do with it. With some difficulty he got the lid off and then slipped one into his mouth.

Tony's hips were rocking gently; he was sensitive, too sensitive, but he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to.  Steve's body was magnetic. He massaged the knot in and out of Steve's entrance, body shuddering with the intensity of the sensation.  Unlike Steve's heat on the plane, this one was not the slightest bit frustrating. They weren't separated and as long as they remained coupled Tony was perfectly content.  His brain was a simple flowchart with a simple question: was he fucking Steve? As long as the answer was yes, Tony was happy.

Steve whimpered as Tony rocked into him slowly, teasing him at him. He made him go all the more pliant beneath him, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink as he tilted his head back and gasped softly as he squirmed. Steve hummed in contentment, grip on the blankets around him loose and weak. He was happy to go wherever Tony took him.

When he'd had semi-heats in the forties he'd had to look after himself. Those had been some of the most frustrating days of his life, where all he had for relief was his fingers and Vaseline. Steve didn't miss it, certainly not now when he knew just how good it could be. And it was good, so fucking good...

He didn't think he'd ever felt his full before. Tony had been inside of him since the beginning and he'd released inside of him several times. The sensation of it just served to turn Steve on even more. He was panting and whimpering with soft, quiet sounds leaving his lips, his eyes still glazed over as he watched Tony's face. It was like he was high again, almost, but he wasn't manic this time. He was something more docile.

Within a few hours Tony was reduced to a bruised, quivering mess.  His knot was rubbed raw. He'd gone from ecstasy to weariness to _this_.  His body ached from tensing over and over, and he was certain his dick was bruised; it was not dissimilar to the feeling one got from wearing a cock ring for too long.  (Of course Tony knew what that felt like.)

But he couldn't stop.  His mind was disconnect from his body and every time Steve whimpered or arched or begged for more, Tony complied, the slap of wet skin filling the room in time to piano music and periodic alarms from the phone.  Aside from thrusting into Steve, pumping every last ounce of himself into his omega, Tony was struggling to keep up with the pills; it seemed like the damn phone was going off constantly. Once or twice, after Steve shuddered beneath him, he managed to feed him an ice chip or two.  He didn't have the capacity to worry about himself; he was sweating like he was in a sauna and he felt vaguely sick but every little mewl or whine from Steve triggered another frantic round of humping and he was almost positive he was going to die like this.

The phone went off; Tony looked at it weakly.

_Blue pill, 10 white pills._

"Steve," he mumbled hoarsely, squirming weakly.  Steve bucked under him, seeking more, Tony buried his length into him.  "Steve... gotta take more pills... here..." He shoved them toward Steve.  White pills... had it been twelve hours? Tony had lost all sense of time.  He'd been reduced to a sort of automaton and all he could really think about was mating Steve.  He hadn't unsheathed his cock since they'd begun. His knot was throbbing in a not-pleasant way.  For the first time, Tony was aware that Steve was, at least physiologically, twenty years younger than him.

(He wondered how Boswell and Banksy managed.  Was there some trick other Alphas knew, or was this just how it was?  If so, he had been extremely mislead by pornography, which had always made heats seem sexy.  This was sexy in a rather more nightmarish way, with a lot more sweat and semen and pain. And Steve had a weird childish urgency about him, a dopey, glassy-eyed look that made him seem more animal that human; Tony found the whole thing distastefully perverted.)

Steve felt like he was floating. His consciousness ebbed out and in but Tony remained constant. He would squirm every time he became aware of his surroundings once more, whimpering and begging underneath Tony until he filled him up again and he was lulled into a half sleep. He would still squirm, even in his sleep, wriggling around Tony's knot as if he was just trying to get comfortable.

His entrance was sore and sensitive and Steve would almost whimper in pain as well as pleasure as Tony finished inside of him by the time they were hitting the twelve-hour mark. It was only half a day in and Steve was already a mess. He was shivering and he wouldn't stop, even when Tony fed him ice.

Steve tried to take the pills. He struggled, a lot. He dropped about five white pills in the blankets somewhere before finally managed to swallow ten. It was hard work and he had to drink at least two bottles of water to get them down.  That was the last of their water; a small pile of empty bottles was beside the couch. He was still shaking and Tony was still inside of him. Steve let out a withered breath and dropped the second, crumpled bottle. It landed on the floor noisily.

The fire in his chest didn't burn like it used to. Maybe this was the lull they had been waiting for.

"Can we have a bath? I think I want a bath," Steve said meekly, pawing at Tony's hands as if he was pandering for his permission. "You can stay inside of me. I promise. I just want a bath. Please. I'm cold. I don't want frostbite. I don't want to lose my fingers. They said I...I..." He leaned his forehead against Tony's chest and screwed his eyes shut. He was partially delirious, his mind spinning in confusion with memories from his beginning at SHIELD.

Tony blinked with exhaustion and grabbed Steve's hands, pulling them onto his arc reactor.  "Steve. Feel the heat. You're not cold, you're feverish. You don't have frostbite, I promise.  You're warm. Put your hands on my heart if you want them to be warm," he said. His voice sounded exhausted, even to him.  "I'll get you a bath, okay? You're doing great. We're both doing great."

Were they?  Tony had no way of knowing.  He'd never done this before and Steve... poor Steve had only ever had, what, one or two full heats, ones that he'd suffered through by himself.  Tony remembered suddenly how he'd laughed at Steve's description of himself "suffering" through a heat, back in May. Tony had remembered thinking that spending a few days doing nothing but jacking off sounded great.  Now he realized what Steve meant.

The metal was smooth and warm and strong. Steve smiled as he trailed his fingers over the ridges and bumps. The blue light emitting from it made him feel happy...safe. He tilted his head and fell quiet briefly in his contentment.

Tony let Steve run his fingers over the arc reactor for a few moments before he slowly eased off of Steve.  They weren't knotted; they'd been fucking for hours and Steve was loose, Tony flaccid. He made to stand and discovered his legs were shaking with the effort.

Steve frowned as Tony pulled out of him and made him wince. It hurt. His entrance was sore and Tony pulling out of him made him squirm uncomfortably.

"Please don't leave me, oh...oh." Steve frowned as he watched Tony stagger into the bathroom. He stretched his hands out towards Tony and slumped down on the sofa, curling out towards him.

 _Holy fuck, how do people do this?_ Tony wondered.  He had a sudden, vivid image of his father and Jarvis and he nearly threw up.

Steve was still mewling.  Every noise he made hit some weird primal part of Tony's brain; he could've lost an arm and still tried to comply with Steve's wishes.

"Okay.  Okay Gonna run you a nice, hot bath," said Tony, patting Steve, stumbling toward the nearest bathroom.

Was it safe to put a feverish person into hot water?  Tony had no idea. He was trusting his and Steve's biology.  But just to be safe, he ran it warm instead of hot.

He stumbled back, weak, half-blind.  Steve was groping for him; he automatically tried to pick him up before remembering Steve was well over two hundred pounds.  "Steve. C'mon. Bath," he commanded wearily, tugging on the omega. "We can come back to the nest later."

The nest?  Hm. Their "nest" wasn't really a "nest" so much as a pile of sweat- and semen-covered blankets bunched up into the corner of a now-ruined couch.  Oh well. It was getting the job done, for what that was worth.

Steev let out a noise of relief when Tony returned, grabbing his hand when it was offered. He let his Alpha guide him up and stood. Steve almost fell. The throb between his legs made it hard to walk. When they got to the bath Steve had to reach out and shakily grip the ceramic edge but he steeled himself. He pulled himself up and into the bath with Tony's help and sighed in relief as the hot water engulfed him.

His eyes were watering a little and the flush on his skin didn't looks so healthy now. Steve sat woodenly in the bath with his legs drawn up to his chest. He still felt a little strange...maybe he was still delirious still.

"Could you...get in with me?" Steve asked, voice quiet.

"Uh-huh," said Tony.  He crawled into the bath with Steve, laying his body over his protectively.  The water was warm. Tony tried not to think about how gross they both were.

Was this normal?  He had no reference point, no way of knowing.  No one had ever sat him down and explained these particular facts of life.

He felt ill and his body hurt but the impulse to mate was too strong for him to ignore.  The moment he was on top of Steve he began grinding against him, closing his eyes and laying his head on Steve's wet shoulder.

"You doing okay?" he mumbled into Steve's neck.  It was bruised, covered in love bites.

Jesus Christ, no wonder they'd hidden that Captain America was an omega back in the forties.  In heat, Steve seemed downright helpless, almost infantile.

But truthfully, Tony wasn't much better.  Steve's pheromones played him like a fiddle and Tony doubted he'd be able to deny Steve any request.  Tony would have thrown himself over a cliff with barely a hint of hesitation if he thought it would help Steve get off and improve his chances of mating.  His body had decided self-preservation, dignity, and basic comfort were no longer concerns; they'd all been replaced, entirely, with satisfying Steve.

It was sort of funny, to Tony, that for all of the historical Alpha posturing about Alphas being somehow _better_ , when an omega was in heat, both parties lost their minds.

No one ever talked about Alphas being in rut.  But here he was, just as feral as Steve was.

"It felt really good at first, but now it just kind of hurts. I think I need to sleep. Maybe if I sleep then I'll heal and it won't be so bad again," Steve murmured. Still, even now, his body was responding to Tony rubbing up against him. He could feel himself getting wet but he also logically knew how sore he was down there.

Steve mumbled something about sleep and Tony felt like that was the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard.  He wanted to sleep so badly; his whole body was screaming for it.

Steve wanted to sleep, yes ...but it was his Alpha, and he couldn't leave him unsatisfied.  The imperative to please him hit Steve like a ton of bricks.  Steve didn't hesitate to sink down off of the bench in the bath to the floor of it, now on his knees between Tony's thighs. This felt right. His heat thrummed through his body, thrilled to finally be like this in front of Tony as he ducked his head down.

Steve could hold his breath for two minutes, Tony knew that, so he quite happily submerged himself under water as he took Tony's half-hard dick into his mouth. Over the past seven months Steve had gotten _very_ good at sucking Tony off. He knew what he liked, knew what tipped him over the edge and knew what teased him nice and slow and allowed Steve to drag it out.

For a split second Tony thought it was accidental, Steve slipping under the water. Then he felt Steve wrap his lips around his cock.  His whole body spasmed and he grabbed Steve's hair to yank him up.

But then Steve felt fingers tugging in his hair and he lifted his head back above the water. "Was I doing something wrong?" he asked, sounding genuinely afraid that the answer would be _yes._

"No... no, no, no, you're doing great," panted Tony.  "You're doing good, you're so good, omega... I'm sensitive... I'm too sensitive for that right now..."

Fucking hell, how was he hard again?

Tony suddenly remembered seeing a thing on National Geographic about how starfish impregnated other starfish by detaching an arm and having it crawl off without him.  Or maybe that was squids or something. Whatever. All Tony knew was that his penis was currently threatening to do the same. Clearly, it had its own agenda that had nothing to do with Tony's comfort.

Besides, he didn't want Steve under water like that.  He wanted to keep Steve safe and he knew that, in his heat, Steve wasn't likely to consider his own well-being above servicing his Alpha.

"Just lay back... just relax, okay?  You're pleasing me... feel..." said Tony, sinking to his own knees in the water and pressing his cock against Steve's thigh.  "Feel that? That's how pleased I am... you're a good boy, Steve... you're my good boy..." He reached out and ran a hand over Steve's wet hair.  Both of them were panting a little.

Well, Tony could admit one thing.  Heats were certainly a bonding experience.  This was about as intimate as you could get with another human being.  They were slobbery, sweating, gasping, sexual biological messes.

Steve tried to fight back the pang of his rejection. But when Tony pressed his hard on against his thigh it was hard to deny it. A wave of relief washed over him. He had to remind himself that his Alpha was sensitive and stopped himself from grinding against him. He let Tony control what they did and didn't do. Besides, Tony said himself that he was doing great.

He leaned into Tony's touch and nodded. "Yours. Wanna be so good for you Tony," he whispered as they both moved back to slump against the side of the bench in the water. They both looked wrung out. Steve couldn't wait for sleep.

From under the water Steve reached up a hand, the backs of his fingers grazing over Tony's cheek. "I love you," he whispered, voice trembling a little until he let his eyes slip shut as he just savored the sensation of the water. It was probably around one in the morning but Steve had truly lost all sense of time.

It was quiet for a little while. The room filled only with the sounds of their breathing. Steve didn't open his eyes.

"I miss my mom," he said out of the blue. "I miss her food. She tried to teach me but I was no good...couldn't even lift a pan full of water for the potatoes. Can you imagine that?" Steve smiled tiredly but fondly. "Couldn't even lift water..."

Tony's rutting paused for a moment.  The surface of the water was still.

"My mom played piano.  She would walk past and play the opening notes of Ode to Joy whenever she was happy.  It was like laughter. She did that less and less as I got older. Dad drank. Sometimes, I would pass the piano and play those notes, just to piss him off.  I don’t know why I did that. She took the blame for it. He blamed her.” He paused again, letting the silent spool out. "And... and that's all I really remember.  Not her voice or her laugh or even what she looked like, outside of the photos. Just those eight notes on the piano."

He looked down at Steve.  Steve's mother had been gone for, what... seventy years or something?  He was pretty sure they'd lost their mothers around the same age. An age that was too early and yet late enough that they'd both been expected to man up and bear it.  Steve had been close to her, Tony knew. He knew she'd protected him, in a time when, as an omega, and a rather sick, poor one at that, he could have easily been sold off in an arranged bonding to a less-than-pleasant Alpha.

"Steve?  Does she have a nice memorial?" asked Tony quietly.  "We could get one now, if she doesn't. A headstone. You're not poor anymore, now."

Steve's face was unreadable for a moment. "I remember I could only afford a pine coffin. But I decorated it myself. I painted flowers on every side and patterns around the edges. The vicar told me it was beautiful.  The quartet down the road came and sang a few songs for free. It was peaceful. Nothing flashy, but Ma wouldn't have wanted flashy."

Before Steve knew what he was doing he was reaching down into the water and taking one of Tony's hands in his own. He squeezed lightly.

"Please, can we get to bed? I'm tired and I can feel how tired you are. Tomorrow won't be better. We should sleep.  Please.  I'm so tired," Steve murmured, sounding more himself than he had since this heat had started.

Tony was glad to see a bit of consciousness in Steve's eyes.  A bit of _Steve_.

He squeezed Steve's hand back.  The two of them both got out of the bath, sloshing water everywhere, and did a sloppy job of toweling each other off.

With quite a bit of stumbling and getting tangled up in towels they ended up in their bedroom, falling into bed with each other, still naked. Steve curled against Tony, contently, a smile on his lips as his eyes slipped shut. He was still so terribly sore, but a little less after the bath now ,and it felt good to have Tony so close and warm (and not quite so sticky and sweaty.) The bed would no doubt get nested and ruined tomorrow, but that was tomorrow and it didn't matter right now.

Steve's phone had gone off as they were stumbling through the lounge; Tony grabbed it and the pills, shoving a blue one into Steve's hand, before staggering into the master bedroom and collapsing into bed.

He tossed Steve's pills and the phone onto the side table, then wrapped himself around Steve, nosing and licking the back of his neck.  Steve's body was hot against his. Despite the bath, Steve smelled strongly of sex. Tony was partially hard but he was drifting off, his body having hit a limit.  He wondered how many people (specifically, older Alphas) died annually from trying to keep up with their omegas' heats.

"Love you, 'mega.  G'night," Tony breathed onto Steve's neck, relaxing against him, erection pressed into his thigh.

"Love you, Alpha," whispered Steve back.

The two of them fell asleep together, arms around one another.


	18. Bond Exploitation, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for being patient with us; we skipped last Sunday's usual update because of Easter. Please also note that we will NOT be updating on April 26th due to the Infinity War release. 
> 
> Also, I would like to pre-emptively say to everyone who comments about Tony being a dick in this chapter: yes. He is a dick. A huge, immature dick who is honestly not really emotionally capable of dealing with an Alpha/omega bond. If you haven't picked up on that yet, hopefully by now it's clear. And I know I keep saying it, but I swear, he does mature. Somewhat. For him, anyway.
> 
> Thanks for staying with us, readers! - Tony (aka the Apollo of Sappho and Apollo)

His eyes snapped open and the first thing he was aware of was a tightness in his crotch.

He sat up.  It was the middle of the night.  He'd only gotten in a few hours ago.  He had given his mission report: the target had been eliminated, and it had been all too easy, because the idiot had been playing around with his phone while driving.  (He'd felt bad about the Lamborghini, though. It had really been a gorgeous car.)

He was supposed to be sleeping now.  But he was aroused and it was proving to be impossible to ignore.

He wasn't sure what to do exactly.  He wasn't programmed to handle this.  He wasn't allowed to masturbate; why would he be?  There was no purpose to it.

He got out of bed and began doing push-ups.  Might as well work out until it went away. He sure as hell wasn't going to sleep anytime soon.

_He listened to Steve in the other room, whimpering to himself, and he rolled out of their bed, usually shared, and began doing sit-ups.  That was what he did on the rare occasions when Steve's body mustered up enough energy to go into pre-heat. He could smell him, hear the way Steve tried to muffle his cries, and he did the same, trying to ignore it, even though he could feel it inside of him, his omega's desire, and he could imagine Steve touching himself, and he could smell the desperation... no.  He couldn't. He'd hurt him. He had promised Sarah he'd protect him and God knew that if mating didn't kill him, pregnancy would. So he'd spend the night doing chin-ups and smoking his way through one or two packs of Lucky Strikes and in the morning he'd act like nothing was weird, even as Steve gave him that sad look of longing... the irony being that his attraction to Steve only served to help him make his own physique even more desirable._

He wasn't aware he was remembering until morning.  He'd been sitting in the bed, head in his hands, making a keening noise.  He looked up; light was coming in through the window. He could still feel weird pangs of arousal, and he didn't know why, and they were so intricately mixed with guilt that he could hardly stand it.  He pressed his forehead against the window with a groan of misery. He didn't understand. That was the worst part. He didn't understand these memories or these feelings. They were foreign, without context, but they haunted him like ghosts.

He opened his eyes.  His own reflection stared blankly back at him and his breath fogged up the glass.

He reached out with his right hand and drew a curved line, then another straight one under it, and another straight one under that.

A wing.

"солдат!  ...what is that you're drawing?"

He jumped at the sound of Karpov's voice and wheeled around, saluting automatically.  "A... wing?  Sir."

"A wing?  Why did you draw a wing?"

He stared at Karpov, uncomprehending.  The words that came out of his mouth next were utter nonsense and he had no idea why he said them: "Howling Commandos."

Those two words earned him a retraining session.  By the end of it, his brain was static, electricity having swept away the remains of the ashes of those words, and even if he could have remembered them, he wouldn't have dared uttered them again.  They sat him on his cot and he didn't move, eyes unfocused, once again unburdened by emotions, feelings of arousal, memories, or fog-drawings of wings.

Doctors muttered around him. "It would make sense," said a female doctor. "If the captain had gone into heat. The soldier's temperature is raised and even if he can't feel it anymore, he's..." she gestured at Bucky. Or the man that Bucky once was. "It would make sense," she repeated.

Karpov nodded sombrely. "Go fetch the witch."

* * *

Steve groaned as he blinked awake. The room was cold and his chest felt heavy. He could hear voices around him even though his vision was blurry. There were heavy, cold weights around his wrists and ankles like he was tied down and something strapped his head to a cold plate behind him. His eyes darted around wildly, unseeing for now.

"It will only last a few minutes..."

"Consider it an experiment. A test run."

"I don't think she can do it. I think she lied."

The witch smiled at the doubters muttering behind her and clicked her fingers in front of Steve's eyes. There was a whisp of red that fluttered in the air. It glittered. It was almost pretty.  But dangerous.  Like a flame.

"Welcome." Her voice was deceptively smooth. "So nice of you to finally join us, Captain."

Steve's left arm felt wrong. And he felt sick. His head throbbed. Was this because of the heat? Who was this woman in front of him? Where was Tony--

"He only needs a few minutes to kill him."

"He has his instructions.  But if he fails his objective then it's fine.  We'll still have learned something."

Kill him? Kill who? What the hell was going on?!

Steve pulled against the restraints but he appeared to be tied down into some sort of chair. "He is here with us."  The woman before him smiled, her eyes an insidious red. Steve's hair kept falling in front of his eyes and he couldn't see. That was funny. He didn't have long hair, did he?

Perhaps "women" was hyperbole.  She was more likely a teenager, but her expression was an adult's and there were dark circles under her eyes that made her appear older initially.

"It's a shame we couldn't have done with this with Stark directly."

"Yes, but in the end, the bond is not with him. It makes more sense this way. The witch said so."

"Well, in any case, rabbits are so much more weak-minded than bears."

"But the asset is himself an Alpha."

"Yes but he hardly counts as a man."

A man stepped forward and Steve's vision just managed to focus on him. "How do you know it's him?" he asked, peering at Steve. Steve saw the HYDRA emblem on his uniform and bared his teeth.

"I'm going to rip out your spine the minute I get out of this thing." His voice...now that didn't sound right. That didn't sound like his.  It was familiar and yet utterly foreign.

The man laughed deep in his throat. The low sound rumbled in his chest. "I always did like them with some fire," he breathed, his smile sickly.  His accent was Russian.

"I won't give you what you want," said Steve, who did not know what they wanted.  "I would sooner die."

It was _Bucky_. That was _Bucky's_ voice.

Steve's heart ached.

Was this a bad dream, maybe?  Some sort of flashback?

The witch watched him curiously. There was no malice in her eyes, not like the man's.

"Tony Stark will not let you die, Rogers." Steve flinched when the man reached out to touch his cheek. The reaction did not feel entirely his own. "Rich men-" Karpov smiled a sickly smile. "-always take good care of their property."

Then Steve's eyes rolled back in his head.

The witch rushed forward, a hand on his forehead. She cursed under her breath.

"I lost him."

* * *

 Steve woke up standing. He took in their bedroom within a few seconds. The sheets were ripped. His left fist was bloody (presumably from the hole in the wall just to his right) and Tony was on the floor looking at him like he was a monster. Steve opened his mouth to say something. He frowned. And then he promptly fell to the floor with a loud thwack.

It was 3:45 in the morning when Pepper's phone rang.

She rolled over with a groan and checked it.

Of course.  Who else?

"Tony--" she began wearily.

"Pepper!"  His voice was high-pitched and frantic.  "How normal is aggression during heats?"

"What?  You're calling me to ask about heats?  Just ask JARVIS--"

"I tried that.  But all the information is all about Alphas."

"I-- yes, Alphas get aggressive during their mate's heats," said Pepper, sitting up groggily.  "You already knew that, Tony."

"No, no, omegas.  Do omegas get aggressive during heats?"

Pepper rubbed her eyes, confused.  "No... no, not that I'm aware of. I suppose they can get nest possessive, but not really _aggressive."_

"Okay, 'cause the thing is, Steve just tried to kill me."

Pepper froze.  " _What?_ "

"Yeah.  We were cuddling, he woke up, babbled a bunch of stuff in Russian, punched a hole in the wall, the yooj."

"How is that the yooj?"

"Well, this is our first heat together, this might be the yooj.  I don't know yet. I'm hoping it's not, though. Anyway, he punched a hole in the wall, I smashed an orchid over his head, he grabbed my throat, said some more Russian garbage, then just sorta passed out.  Right now I've got the Mark 6 holding him down. It would actually be pretty delightfully kinky if I weren't scared for my life."

" _That's not what you're supposed to do during your mate's heat."_

"No, don't worry, I also think I broke my dick.  Oh, speaking of which, I can't cram any more of those pills into Steve because, like I mentioned, he's unconscious.  Is there another way to keep him from getting preggo? Like, falcon punching him or something?"

" _Tony!"_

"Anyway, can you come over?  I'm... um, I'm pretty... pretty legitimately shaken up."  Tony's voice betrayed him in that moment. His tone, which had been one of light, forced casualness, wavered a little.

"Tony, you need to call someone who-- who can help with this.  Like Dr. Gleason or one of the SHIELD agents."

"Phil's in heat, Clint's in heat, Natasha's with Clint, Fury scares the bejeebus out of me, and Sam--"  Tony paused. Sam was an Alpha, but Sam was only interested in other Alphas. Hmmm. "--okay, you come over and I'll call Sam."

"Tony, _why do you need me?"_

"I-- I don't know, 'cause I didn't know who else to call.  He just-- he _turned_ , Pep."  Tony's voice wobbled again.  "I gotta go, I think he's moving.  See you in a bit!"

He hung up before she could reply.

Tony eyed Steve's body warily.  Steve was lying on his stomach, pinned by one of Tony's suits, which was on standby.  Tony had tugged on a pair of sweatpants. It didn't help. He was still partially erect, his body still reacting to the smell of Steve, and Steve lying there naked was as scintillating as it was horrifying.  Steve's hand was bleeding but Tony didn't dare try to wrap it up, knowing the grip that hand had. Steve was also lying on at least one shard of pottery from the orchid Tony had smashed over his head, and he was worried about it cutting into Steve's flesh (he could smell blood), but he had no way to easily move Steve without potentially letting him loose, and that was a chance he wasn't willing to take just yet.

He had no idea what he'd just witnessed.  Steve had gotten all dopey from the heat, had maybe had a few confusing little flashbacks (he'd mentioned frostbite, after all), but then... then he'd woken up and it had all gone to hell.  The way he had looked at Tony, with such... what? Not hatred. No. Just an intense desire to annihilate him. He looked at Tony with the look of a predator, and the swing he'd taken had not been a playful one.  Every time Tony looked at the wall, he imagined his head. Steve would have caved it in like an over-ripe melon. He'd missed by mere inches. His movements had been weird and jerky, like he was suddenly unused to his own body; he'd practically tripped over his own feet.  His words had been garbled and nonsensical. Tony's heart was still hammering but it wasn't just himself he was scared for. His mate had gone fucking crazy. Had he done this, somehow?

Steve was moving a little.

Tony crouched an arm's length away, just in case Steve lashed out at him.  "Hey, buddy," he said uncertainly. "You, uh... you okay there? You pulled a Banner on me."  (Dr. Banner was legendary; he'd gone crazy and torn up half of Culver College before going on the lam.  Tony had tossed Culver College a sizeable grant, hoping they'd hire more insane physics professors, but the replacement was terminally boring and Tony had declined to speak at the commencement in June.)

Steve's eyes fluttered open. For a moment he thought he was back in the chair because of the metal grip around one of his wrists and the back of his neck but he soon realised that, no, he was in their bedroom and it was a mess and there was blood. He felt sick and he wasn't just shivering from the heat now. His blue eyes darted around wildly until he landed on the blurry shape of his Alpha. He didn't look hurt. Thank God. He looked like he was okay.

"I-I..." It was weird, hearing his own voice again. "I was in the chair," he finally managed to get out. "It hurt. They hurt me. They hurt...him." Steve frowned in thought, struggling to work out the difference himself.

"I saw the girl. And a man. The man called me your property," Steve said with a bad taste in his mouth. "It was...just a test run. They just wanted to see if they could do it."

His eyes were watering. He felt like he might cry, or maybe be sick. Steve could still feel his heat. But he could also feel the chair, the heavy weight of that plate pressing down on his forehead...his gaze became unfocused.

"He tried to kill you," Steve whispered. "He tried to kill you, didn't he?"

Tony had already poured himself a drink.  He watched Steve babble about a girl, tests, chairs, slowly sipping his bourbon.

" _You_ tried to kill me," he said.  He was surprised at how calm his voice was.

His mate had turned on him.  There were two possibilities.  Either Steve had gone crazy and wasn't to blame... or he'd turned on Tony, just like Obie had, and could no longer be trusted.  Tony wasn't taking chances.

He had already decided to ignore anything Steve said until Pepper arrived.  Pepper, as a beta, would be able to talk to him without hormones getting in the way.

He remained crouched a couple of meters from Steve, watching him, sipping his drink.  Steve didn't look well. He still smelled delicious, but nearly getting punched in the face by Captain America had been a sobering experience.  Tony felt a lot more in control than he had since Steve's heat had started. He wanted to reach out and comfort Steve, but he didn't want to get within reaching distance.  The Mark VI had him pinned pretty good, but Tony wasn't going to get cocky and take any chances.

He had expected Pepper to arrive first (after all, she lived only twenty miles east and it was the middle of the night, no traffic) so he was surprised when he heard a thump on the window.  He looked up; Sam was pushing his googles up onto his head.

Right.  Wings were faster.

Tony walked over to open the balcony door.  The moment he did, instinct took over. Sam was an Alpha, Sam _smelled_ like an Alpha, Sam was a threat; clearly he was here to encroach on Tony's territory, take what was his, steal his omega.

Before he was consciously aware of what he was doing, Tony had attacked Sam and the two were rolling around on the floor.

"Tony!  Tony, stop!  Stop!" shrieked Sam, trying to get away.  He managed to kick Tony off him and back into a corner of the room, hands up, shoulders hunched, eyes down.

Tony stood between him and Steve, tense, hair up, lip raised.  "Don't _touch_ him!"

"I'm not!  I'm not! Tony, _you_ called me here, I don't want him, he's yours, I submit!"  Sam didn't dare lift his eyes. "I'm here to help, okay? I'm not going to touch him, I promise, he's all yours."

"He's _mine_ ," growled Tony.

"I don't want him, Tony, he's _your_ omega," said Sam soothingly.

Tony could not, for the life of him, remember why Sam was here; he hovered over Steve, still pinned by the suit, growling softly.  The only reason he wasn't actively trying to tear Sam to shreds was because Sam's posture was so submissive. Sam didn't make any sudden movements; the two of them squared off for  what felt like forever. It was Pepper that saved them.

"Okay, I'm here, I-- oh, Lord," said Pepper, walking in.  Her hand flew to her mouth.

She had clearly dressed hastily; she was in a pair of black yoga pants, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt, and her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail.  Before her, Steve was naked, bleeding, and pinned down by one of the Iron Man armors; Tony was hovering over him, bristling; Sam was squished into a corner with his hands up.  Both Tony and Sam were sporting fairly impressive erections, an unavoidable reaction to Steve's heat.

"Pepper!" cried Tony, with relief.

Pepper shoved a can of coffee grounds at him.  "Breathe."

"Huh?"

" _Breathe_."  Tony obediently pulled off the lid and huffed the coffee.  It smelled great.

"Why am I smelling coffee?" he asked, feeling a lot calmer.  The hair on his neck was finally flattening. Obviously due to Pepper's calming presence.

"Because I need you to not smell Steve for a few minutes so I can figure out what the hell is going on here."  Pepper looked over at Sam. "Do you need any?"

"I'm only into Alphas," said Sam, still pressed into the corner.  A pause, then he added, almost embarrassed, "I can't help... this.  It's a reflex."

Steve was so upset. He didn't understand what he'd done wrong. It wasn't him! Why didn't they understand that? Why did Tony think he'd tried to kill him? He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't...rejection welled up in his chest. He wasn't good enough. They doubted him. No. Not good enough. His fingers were cold again. Could he even feel them? Goddamn frostbite!

"Right. Tony, I just want you to calm down, come sit on the edge of the--"

"Er, guys...I think Steve is...drawing something." Sam pointed down at the floor.

Steve had one hand free; the other was pinned under his own body.  The suit's hands were around his neck. He hadn't thought about it. Not really. He'd just _done it_ , ignoring Sam and Tony's fight and Pepper's entrance. He'd bitten down hard on his index finger and then started drawing on the pale flooring beneath him. Even with blood, Steve was a good drawer. His eyes were glazed over and he looked focused, muttering quiet nothings to himself as a face was soon drawn in red by his hand.

"There.  There's him."

Sam edged slowly around Tony, pulling out his phone.  He snapped a picture of the face off of the floor and sent it off to someone. Pepper frowned, looking deeply disturbed.

"Steve, why did you draw that? You're bleeding," Pepper said as calmly as she could muster, moving to kneel down.

"He... _he_ was there," Steve whispered. "The man was there. This man.  He spoke to me."

"Where was he?" Pepper prompted.

"In the room with the chair. With the witch. They called her a witch. Witches aren't real, though, are they?" Steve asked; his tone was almost child-like.  His heat was making everything seem surreal and dreamlike and he was starting to doubt everything he'd just seen.

The drawing was good. Steve had had time to work in a lot of details while Sam and Tony had been rolling around on the floor. The eyes were angry.

"Agent Hill says her closest match is a Colonel Karpov. He's been with HYDRA since the cold war," Sam said quietly. "Where did you see him, Steve?"

"In the room with the chair!" Steve was getting impatient. He'd said this already; why weren't they _listening_?

Pepper walked into the bathroom and came back with some bandages.  "Give me your hand," she demanded.

"Karpov," said Tony into the coffee can, eyes narrowing.  "I know him. I mean, not personally. But I... I know the name."

"That guy's like a bad penny," said Sam, crossing his arms.

Pepper crouched by Steve and took his hand.  His skin was hot and wet; she began gently wrapping it.  Steve was mostly limp, letting her move him. He looked miserable and frustrated, like a child who thinks he's being unfairly accused but lacks the words to explain.

"Steve?  Can you tell us what he said to you?" asked Sam gently, still keeping his distance.

Tony watched Pepper wrapping Steve's hand, heart aching for his omega.  Why did everyone he love always turn on him? What was it about him that made him so... unlikable?

He sneezed into the coffee but didn't move his face from the can.  Natasha was right; the strong smell was good at helping him keep a level head.  This, he thought bitterly, was the sort of thing Howard should have taught him.

"Are you sure they said _witch_?" prompted Pepper.  "Are you such it wasn't _which_ , like trying to tell one thing from another?"

Tony crossed the room to pour himself another drink.

"No, witch.  She had magic," Steve whispered, mesmerized as Pepper wrapped up his hand. The metal grip on the back of his neck was beginning to irritate the scar tissue there. He squirmed uncomfortably.  "He told me that Tony would stop me from hurting myself. Told me they would take me and I couldn't stop them because Tony wouldn't let me hurt myself," Steve said and then began to shake, looking distressed.  "I didn't want to go there.  I don't know how.  I'm sorry.  I don't want to go with them.  Not again.  I hated it.  The chair, the arm..."

"What arm?" Sam prompted.

"Bucky's."

"Why could you feel his arm?" Sam frowned.

" _Because I was in his chair_ ," Steve said, sounding frustrated again. "You need to keep up."

"And why were you in his chair?" Pepper asked patiently.

"Because the witch put me there."

"But how?"

" _She put me in his body_!"

Steve blinked. There. He'd said it. Why had that been so hard?

It made no sense but it was precisely what he'd been trying to communicate this whole time.

Tony threw his hands up.  "And _there_ it is! _Bucky_!  It's always about _Bucky_ with you, isn't it?  Our first heat together and you have to try to murder me and then bring _Bucky_ into this! _Fuck this shit_."

He stormed out.

"Tony, wait!" cried Pepper.  But he was already going down to his shop.

"Aw, hell," said Sam, already pulling out his phone.

Pepper looked up anxiously, Steve's hand in hers.  "What does he mean, a witch?"

"I don't know, maybe he's confusing a dream with a vision.  But it sounds like HYDRA found a way to exploit their bond after all," said Sam, dialing.  "Hello, Hill? Need you at Stark manor, we got a big problem."

Pepper stroked Steve's hair gently.  He was shaking, sweating, and clearly not himself.  "So you're saying you were in... in your old mate's body... and your old mate was in yours?"

"That's impossible," said Sam, covering the phone.  "Even bonded, two guys can't switch consciousness. I mean, I know Dr. Charles Xavier's postulated it before, but that stuff is all theoretical, isn't it?"

"But it makes perfect sense... _Steve_ wouldn't try to kill Tony.  But his old mate would. Tony stole his omega," pointed out Pepper. She looked up at the expressionless mask of the Mark VI.  "Stand down, Six."

The armor didn't move.

"Six.  Stand down.  Deactivate."

It still didn't move.

"JARVIS, tell Tony he needs to call his armor off of Steve."

"Mr. Stark has instructed me to inform you to go hell.  I have inferred this to mean he prefers not to be bothered," said JARVIS.

"It's okay, Steve, we're going to fix this," said Pepper soothingly, still stroking him.  "JARVIS, can I get an administrative override?"

"Mr. Stark has shut down all administrative privileges except for his own."

"...even for me?" protested Pepper.  "God _damn_ it, Tony..."

"I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to upset him. Please. I didn't...I didn't want to hurt him. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Tony. I'm sorry I'm not good enough. Please. I'll be better. I'll be better." Steve's shoulders shook and he screwed his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. He was shaking under Pepper's touch. It was comforting to an extent but it wasn't his Alpha.

He'd disappointed him. He'd let him down. He wasn't good enough.

Steve muttered apologies to himself while Pepper argued with the AI.  To an outsider he would have looked insane.

Pepper let out a long breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Okay then JARVIS. Could you please tell Tony that his mate is currently suffering and afraid and bleeding on the floor of his bedroom? And quite possibly just had HYDRA find a way to take over his body and right now a good Alpha wouldn't be sulking downstairs, he would be _helping_ his mate calm down. Or could at least, you know, maybe get the giant suit off his mate so we can at least put some clothes on him? Because...crazy, I know, this isn't about Tony for once."

"They want to take him in," Sam said quietly, lowering the phone to his side. "If the Winter Soldier can control Steve like a puppet..."

"He should stay at home, after everything he's just been through. He needs a doctor."

Sam turned back to the phone.  "Look, the Iron Man armor is some of the only tech that's powerful enough to actually control him if he goes rogue.  I think he should be kept here." A pause. "If the Winter Soldier can see through his eyes do you really want him in a SHIELD base?"  Another pause. "You _can't_ send agents over, he's still in heat."

Pepper was dialing Dr. Gleason and muttering curses under her breath, most of them directed at Tony.

"...no, you can't talk to Stark, he's..."  Sam cast a look of desperation at Pepper.

"He's having a tantrum," she said.  "Just tell them to send over beta agents.  What about Phil? He's an omega, send him."

"He's in heat, too."

"So they can nest together, I don't know..."

"Can you send Coulson?" asked Sam.  "Uh-huh... yeah, I'd say the perimeter's secure, I've got my tech, too, so he's not going anywhere..."  He covered the phone. "Fury's on his way. They're going to try to contact Phil."

"JARVIS, can you update me on Tony?" demanded Pepper.

"He is drinking single-malt and listening to Alien Ant Farm."

" _Tell him to call off the suit_ !  If not for Steve, then for _me_."

JARVIS didn't respond, but a moment later, the suit stood, letting go of Steve.  Pepper grabbed a blanket off the bed (she seemed immune to being grossed out by blood, sweat, or semen, at least at the moment) and draped it over Steve to give him some modesty.  "Steve," she said softly. "I'm going to call the doctor, okay, and Phil's going to come over... let's get you some clothes... can I see the cut on your stomach? How does your head feel?"

She maneuvered Steve around.  Tony wasn't a super soldier by any stretch of the imagination, but adrenaline had done its job and he had managed to give Steve a rather large bump on his head when he'd brought the potted plant down on it.  Pepper looked over at the orchid lying on the floor. "Sam... can you put that in a glass or something?" she asked. "And clean up these shards so no one else gets cut? ...get him some water... Steve? Steve, if you're going to be sick, you need to let me know, okay?"  She tried to move his head so that he was looking at her, but his eyes weren't focusing and he was mumbling a stream of apologies without acknowledging anything she was saying.

Steve's head was lolling a little. His eyes were glassy and red around the edges. He looked up at Pepper, slowly, his gaze trailing over her face. Slowly, he seemed to recognize her. And slowly, he seemed to process what she was saying. He blinked.

There were dark purple bruises on his wrist and the neck. The bruises on his neck an echo of what Bucky had left behind when he'd tried to take him. The cut on his stomach was just skin deep but it needed cleaning. Sam disappeared into the bathroom and grabbed the toothbrush holder, filling it with water for the flower.

"I think...I think that if he got the chance to back in time he wouldn't have mated me," Steve whispered, voice so soft only Pepper could hear. Maybe it was the heat talking. Maybe it was the trauma. Or maybe it was what Steve really thought, what he really _feared_.

"Steve, that's not true," Pepper said gently and brushed his hair back from his eyes.

Steve smiled faintly, his face looking too pale. "He'll always love you more," he whispered.

And then nothing more was said as Sam returned with clothes and a first aid kit he'd found in the bathroom. Pepper cleaned up the wound, not wanting Steve to smell of Sam later, and then patched it up best she could before they both worked on getting Steve into a tee and a pair of running shorts. They were the most comfortable clothes Sam could find.

Steve was staring straight ahead at the orchid which Sam had rescued. It was sat on the dresser in a toothbrush cup. The white petals were dotted with his blood. His left hand twitched painfully in his lap. He'd maybe broken a few fingers.

"Do you want me to try and get Tony from downstairs?" Sam offered tentatively.

But before Pepper could answer Steve promptly threw up. It was all water and pills.

Pepper squawked with alarm and jumped back.  "Steve! _I asked you to warn me_.  ...you haven't eaten anything at all, have you?  Come on, let's go get some food in you..." Authoritatively, she took Steve's hand and guided him out of the room.

"Have you two just been mating continuously for the last twelve hours?  Jesus, that's not how you're supposed to do it..." muttered Sam, shaking his head.

"It's fine, we're just going to handle this one step at a time, okay?" said Pepper, guiding Steve down the steps toward the kitchen.  The steps were still lined with orchids, the front room filled with them.

Pepper sat Steve down on a stool at the counter and began rummaging through Tony's fridge while Sam texted.

"So they're sending Fury, Sitwell, Coulson, and Mackenzie.  Three betas and an omega."

Pepper nodded, pulling out a loaf of bread.  "Good."

"Steve, you're officially on lockdown.  No leaving the premises. They want eyes on you at all times."

"Oh, fun," said Pepper.  "Just _once_ , I _finally_ thought I'd have a normal holiday... I'm going to miss my flight... ugh... I'm not blaming you, Steve... here, eat this sandwich."  She shoved another bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich at him. "Gleason says he's on his way, too.  Okay? So this is all under control."

"What about...?"  Sam's eyes darted downward, indicating the expansive garage beneath their feet.

Pepper put her hands on her head, clearly debating with herself.  "I... don't know. He's..."

"A drama queen?"

"Prone to episodes," said Pepper tactfully.  She chewed her lower lip. She didn't like the idea of him holing himself up downstairs and drinking himself into a stupor, which was how Tony tended to handle emotional situations.  She remembered how he'd cried when he'd first found out about Bucky and she got goosebumps. "...I'm going to try to go get him, okay? Steve, eat that. Your body needs food."

Sam jumped up on the counter, shifting his crotch uncomfortably.  "You just can't stand to make anything easy, can you?" he teased Steve gently, giving him a weak smile.  "...hey, c'mon, he'll come around. He's your mate. He loves you. He's just shaken up, that's all."

"I could have killed him Sam," Steve said quietly, picking at the sandwich. He wasn't hungry but he didn't dare disobey Pepper right now. Besides, the heat was still leaving him pliable and easy going. He would do most anything anyone told him to, within reason.

The peanut butter was cloying and thick in his mouth. He didn't like it.

"But you didn't. He didn't. Whatever," Sam sighed and looked down at him with a worried look on his features. "Don't worry. We'll work this out. We have the best people on this, you know SHIELD."

"Do you...do you really think I'm worth all this trouble? How can I fight an enemy whose constantly undermining me everywhere I go?" Steve murmured and picked at the sandwich some more.

"Heats can easily make you depressed Steve. And anxious. The heat is messing with your head. I know the real Steve who can't wait to kick more HYDRA ass."

"While they still have that witch with them I'm useless," Steve shrugged. "You can't ever be sure it's me."

Sam frowned a little.

"Tony didn't sign up for this," Steve sighed.

"Oh, God." Sam groaned. "You are so _grim_ like this. Look, you're scent mates, neither of you signed up for anything.  But _who cares_? You're _Captain America_. Sure, you have baggage, but you're also like the epitome of human perfection. If he doesn't want you then he's goddamn insane.  Listen, me and Natasha will beat some sense into him for you, okay?"

Steve almost smiled. He almost laughed. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

"TONY!" hollered Pepper, pounding on the door to the shop.  "Anthony Edward Stark, you open this door _right now_!"

Tony opened it and stared at Pepper.  He was wearing sweatpants, no shirt, and had a bottle of liquor in one hand.  "What?" he demanded.

Pepper shoved her foot into the door so he couldn't close it on her.  "Your mate is upstairs hurt and scared, and you're down here hiding like a _coward_."

Tony's expression didn't change.  "So?" he asked after a moment.

"Don't you care about Steve at all?  He's your omega, Tony!"

"No," said Tony, eyes narrowing a little.  "No, he's _Bucky's_ omega."

"Tony," hissed Pepper.  "Steve doesn't want Bucky.  He wants _you_ .  Pull yourself together.  We've got six people coming over within the hour to deal with this situation and I need you to at least have some _semblance_ of sanity."

"Six people?" repeated Tony.  "Great, they can all take turns with him."  He tried to close the door on Pepper's foot.

She reached out and slapped him.  "You hypocrite! Steve's been nothing but loyal, and you... you flirt with anything that moves!  In the last twenty years you've had, what, fifteen different girlfriends--"

"Eighteen."

"--slept with literally _hundreds_ of--"

"Over a thousand actually," said Tony, looking proud of himself.

"--and you're having another one of your little meltdowns because Steve had an Alpha _seventy years ago_ that never even mated him?"

Tony's face twisted slightly.  "He wanted to," he said softly.  "He loved him. The only reason Barnes didn't take him was because he was too sick to handle it.  But now he's not, and Barnes is back, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the most dominant Alpha in the world."

"No, I _haven't_ noticed, _because I'm a beta_.  And guess what?  You and Barnes aren't going to be fighting over Steve.  Steve _gets to choose_.  And he's choosing you, and you're treating him like shit."

"Move your foot," demanded Tony, attempting to close the door again.  Pepper winced but refused to budge.

"No.  Come upstairs.  Be with Steve."

"Fine.  Fine, I'll come upstairs and maybe, if I'm lucky, he'll actually manage to kill me this time!" snarled Tony, realizing Pepper wasn't going to leave without a fight.

He shoved past her roughly and stomped up the stairs.  In the kitchen, Steve was sitting on a stool, hunched over the counter, picking at a sandwich.  Sam was sitting on the counter, hands clasping in front if him.

Tony flopped onto a stool and put his elbows on the counter without looking at Steve.  "Who's coming?" he demanded.

"Nick Fury, Alphonso Mackenzie, Jasper Sitwell, Phil Coulson, plus Dr. Brazinski, and Pepper called Dr. Gleason," said Sam.

"Great, sounds like a party," said Tony, taking a swig from his bottle.  Pepper's lips tightened a little and she set a glass on the counter in front of him a little harder than necessary.

Steve tensed when Tony walked into the room, partly because he could feel his mate's very own tension. He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the tabletop in front of him. That was a lot of people from SHIELD. He didn't want them to see him like this, so...submissive. People like Nick wouldn't be used to it.

Steve hoped they wouldn't see him any differently after today.

"Gleason just texted. He says you still need to take pills," Pepper said gently.

Sam hopped down. "I'll go get them."

Steve took all the blue pills he'd missed under Gleason's instruction, especially considering all the ones he'd thrown up. He felt weak and shaky, like he'd just recovered from a virus. When Sam had fetched the pills he'd also grabbed the blanket, and he put it back over Steve's shoulders gently. Steve offered him a quiet thanks.

"Now would someone like to explain to me what the hell is going on?" Fury called out as he stepped into the house, a flurry of footsteps following in his wake. Apparently SHIELD didn't ring the doorbell.

The man didn't look remotely tired for 3am. Perhaps he never even slept. Steve wouldn't be surprised.

"They've found a way to exploit the bond," Sam said after a beat of quiet.

Tony was about to complain about people bursting into his home in the middle of the night and demand to know how Fury had gotten past security, but his words died in his mouth because behind Fury was Phil and Tony's mind was instantly wiped of all thoughts.  Phil was, for once, not in a suit and that alone was incredibly disconcerting; he was in a pair of track pants and a Ramones t-shirt (Tony approved of this very much). He was shining with sweat as if he'd run all the way there and kept wiping his face off with a handkerchief that was already thoroughly soaked.

Fury sat down heavily at Sam's words.  Tony was barely aware of the others with him.  Dr. Brazinski was there, her hair down for once, her eyes tired behind her glasses.  Tony wasn't sure which one was Sitwell and which one Mackenzie; both had shaved heads and were wearing suits.  One was dark in complexion and had facial hair, the other olive-skinned and clean-shaven. But he didn't really care because Phil was absolutely captivating to him.

"Okay.  Explain," said Fury, folding his hands neatly.  He nodded to Steve. "Tell me what happened."

Tony spared a glance at Steve, whose head was down, like a child being scolded.  But his attention was drawn back to Phil, who had begun shredding up a stack of _Popular Mechanics_ and _American Scientists_ that Tony hadn't gotten around to reading.

"Hey!" he cried.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," said Phil, a little too quickly, moving the pieces of confetti around the table with all the anxious self-seriousness of a hamster.

Pepper offered him a drink.  He thanked her, took it, and proceeded to begin arranging it around the countertop without drinking from it.

Behind him, Sam shifted uncomfortably.  Having two omegas in heat in the same room was making him salivate and he felt a little gross watching Phil compulsively shred things and move them around.

Steve watched Phil flit about for a moment. He didn't really understand it. Sure, he'd torn up a few doors but that was to stop himself from doing something he'd regret. Phil seemed to be genuinely invested in his task at hand, arranged the fruit on the counter next and then the packets of pills he'd been given by the doctor. He was focused, not mindless. Steve had been focused when he'd been tearing down a cottage in the south of France in the forties.  Well.  Actually, he'd been out of his goddamn mind.

"They swapped us around," Steve swallowed, finally speaking up. "Bucky tried to kill Tony and I... I woke up in a chair. The kind they use to..." He trailed off. "Control him? I don't know."  He fidgeted.  His heat made him feel strange, like he was small again.  Even though all of the agents were betas (except Phil) he still felt oddly shy around them.

"We're pretty certain we've identified Karpov as one of the men Steve saw and spoke to," Sam piped up and Fury nodded.

"Yes. Hill sent over the picture."

"It's a very good picture. Good likeness," Phil added, his voice a little more high pitched than usual. "Steve? Have you broken your hand? Looks painful."

Two of his knuckles had turned a pinkish purple. It wasn't pretty. "I think Bucky punched a wall," Steve murmured, eyes still fixed on the table in front of him."I mean, I did.  I mean, Bucky did, while he was... in my body?"

"Got to be careful. You've got nice hands. Don't want to hurt your hands, Steve." It was interesting. Phil seemed far more concerned with Steve than any of the Alphas in the room, despite being in heat.

"And then I woke up. Tony thought I was trying to kill him and he made a suit hold me down for about an hour."

"Sam...mentioned something about a witch?" one of the bald men in back prompted.

"There was red mist in the air around her. Her eyes glowed. She was the one who did it. They kept calling her a witch. And she had the same eyes as the fast one we found in the HYDRA base before. From the reports."

Fury nodded. He remembered them.

"Did Karpov say anything significant?"

"No." Steve sighed. "Just the usual.  They weren't planning on achieving anything, I don't think. They just wanted to see if it worked."

"They might have been able to work out that it was Steve's heat," Dr. Brazinski said. "His mind would be more pliable, more vulnerable, because of it. Just because they've done it tonight doesn't mean they could just do it in a week's time. They've been tactical about this."

Steve stared down at the table, his mind swimming with doubt. All he could think was that they were right. They'd always been right. Everything that was going wrong. Every weakness they were taking advantage of...it was because of his _status_. The heat inducer, his old mate and the fact that they wanted to use him to breed more super soldiers. None of this would be possible if he was a beta or an Alpha, would it?

"Hey. Rogers." Sam clicked a finger in front of his face. "Did you even hear what I just said?"

Steve blinked slowly. "Er. No. Sorry."

"You've been bonded for seven months.  Anything like this ever hit you?"

"There was a morning when I lost a few hours and I thought I saw Buck in the garden. Tony found me downstairs by the window but I never thought it was real," Steve said quietly.  "I... I don't know, maybe that was a flashback, though.  I'm sorry."

"Stark.  What did you see?" demanded Fury.

"Didn't see anything," said Tony, eyes on Phil.  Brazinski and one of the bald men (the olive-skinned one with glasses) had pulled out notebooks.  So had Phil, but he was systematically tearing out pages and folding them into complicated shapes.  A madman's oragami. Tony's countertop was starting to take on the appearance of a very weird shrine.  "I woke up and Steve said something in Russian, then he tried to punch me. I smashed the first thing I could grab over his head and called the Mark VI.  That was it."

"What did he say?" demanded Brazinski.

"Fuck me, I don't know, do I look like I speak Russian?" snapped Tony, leg jiggling impatiently, arms folded over his bare chest.  Even now, he subconsciously angled it so that his arms blocked most of the arc reactor.

"I think there must be a mistake, obviously, a misunderstanding about the word _witch..."_ said the guy with glasses.

"Could be a code name, could be a mutant," said Fury.  "Intelligence has some leads. For now, Rogers, you're decommissioned.  You too, Stark."

"Oh no, less work.  Say it ain't so," said Tony sarcastically.

"I want a two-person team watching them at all times.  At least one beta on the team. Stark, I highly recommend you don't work on any of your toys for now... if HYDRA can hijack yours or Steve's brain, and see through your eyes, there's a hell of a lot of intel they could get their hands on that we'd rather they not have."

Tony looked up sharply, worriedly.  "But... but my brain is safe, right?  It's Steve's that's--" His voice cracked and everyone pretended not to notice.  "--that's bonded to-- him. And I'm a genius, doesn't that make my brain less... less vulnerable?"

"You're bonded to Steve and as long as he's in heat, you're at risk," said Brazinski.  "In heat, people are more open, less inhibited... and yes, more vulnerable."

"But I'm not in heat, he is," protested Tony.  "Can't we just... break the bond or something?"

The silence that followed was profound.  Everyone gaped at him.

"Jesus, Tony," said Sam softly, looking at Steve.

"He didn't mean that, Steve.  He's drunk," said Pepper, who had been watching the alcohol level in Tony's body slowly approach the bottom.  She set a comforting hand on Steve's shaking shoulder.

"I meant like _temporarily_!" snapped Tony.  "What the hell am I supposed to do for a fucking week if I'm not allowed in my shop?" demanded Tony.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way to keep yourself entertained," said Fury, rising.  "Mackenzie, with me. Brazinski, Sitwell, you stay here. Wilson, Coulson... up to you if you want to stay, too."

"Yes," said Phil immediately.  Tony winced. Phil's nesting compulsive had already made an enormous mess of his kitchen.  Then again, he figured Steve could use an omega buddy. Omegas nested together if they were close, right?  Tony didn't especially want to be around Steve right now. He wanted to hole up somewhere, maybe his office on the second floor, and drink himself stupid and jack off some of his frustration, even though his knot was already rubbed raw.

 _Break the bond_.

A grim sense of smug satisfaction twisted in Steve's gut and he sent Sam a look as if to say _I was right. I told you so_ . Then he just wordlessly pulled away from the table and headed upstairs because Steve couldn't face these people anymore. He dodged the bedroom full of blood and vomit and went to his drawing room. That was _his_ space and he felt calmest there.

The walls were now littered with drawings. He had a wall dedicated to the forties. A lot of it was of Peggy and of the faces he remembered from the forties, faces he didn't want to forget. (No Bucky though. Steve had itched to draw him but also knew he couldn't without upsetting Tony.) He'd tried to draw his mother a few times but he struggled to remember her face. Another wall was the team.: Sam, Clint, fellow omegas.  The other two walls were mostly blank for now, aside from the odd doodle. Steve's favorite was a fox that looked like it was about to climb up onto the windowsill.

There was a strange tugging sensation in Steve's gut. It reminded him of the miscarriage. He felt _empty_. He also only had another few hours before the heat hit him again and he didn't even know if Tony would come back up or if he would just...leave him, like this.

Steve wasn't really a crier. He used to suck it up and bare it but he was feeling over emotional and shaky and Tony just said he...he wanted to...

He slumped down in one of the corners of the drawing room, the corner nearest the fox. He reached out to it, his fingertips tracing over the thick curve of its tail as a few tears escaped and slipped down his cheeks wordlessly.

He felt so _sad_. He didn't think he ever remembered feeling this sad before.

Fucking heats.

"Steve?"

Steve huffed and screwed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against the wall. "Go away, Phil."

Downstairs, the rest of the agents, the betas, were making themselves at home.  Tony edged away.

Pepper stormed after him.  Barred from the garage, his normal go-to sanctuary, Tony was heading for his second-favorite hole, the second-floor lounge.  He entered, but it reeked like Steve; this was where they had nested on the sofa.

Tony wheeled around (nearly colliding with Pepper) and made a beeline for his little-used office.  At least there was a bar there.

"Tony. _Tony_."

"I don't want to talk right now."

Pepper grabbed his arm.  "Tony, you need to stop for a second and breathe."

"No."

"You're going to have a panic attack."  Pepper hated to admit it, but she'd seen this coming a million miles away.  Tony reacted to commitment like he was allergic to it. Frankly, she was impressed she and Steve had managed for seven months without any upsets.

"Well, maybe I'm entitled to a pain attack.  My work is compromised and I can't go down to the shop and my mate is bonded to another Alpha who can apparently hijack his brain and try to kill me."

"He loves you."

"Sometimes love's not enough," said Tony darkly.

"Whether you're mad at him or not, you two are still bonded.  Bonds don't break."

"Exactly.  Which means he's still bonded to Barnes."

Tony sank into the chair behind his desk.  The office was really just there for show. There was a nice mahogany desk and a computer and a shelve of books and a minibar, but Tony probably used the room once or twice a year, tops.  He swiveled idly in the chair for a moment, then reached into the desk for an ancient pack of cigarettes and lit one shakily.

"Don't tell me you're taking up smoking again."

Tony held out the pack to her; she shook her head.  "Tony. Running and hiding from things that are hard to deal with... it's not a good coping mechanism."

"Don't talk to _me_ about mechanisms.  I'm Iron Man."

"Building robot suits and blowing things up isn't a good coping mechanism, either.  Steve's in heat and he's extremely vulnerable right now. You need to go talk to him."

"Don't worry, I have no self-control.  We'll probably be hate-fucking a half-hour from now," said Tony breezily, taking a drag from the cigarette.

" _Tony_."

"Y'know, Pep, unless you're proposing a triad, I don't know why you're so goddamn involved in _my_ relationship, anyway," snapped Tony.

"Because I care about you, and I care about Steve!"

"Scram."

Pepper looked like she wanted to hurl a few choice words at Tony, but instead she turned heel and left, slamming the door behind her.

In the studio, Phil was doing the exact opposite.  Even though Steve had asked him to leave, he walked in and slid down to the floor next to Steve.

He reached out and slipped his hand into Steve's, offering him silent comfort.  "It's okay to cry," he said after a moment. "But when you're done... you and Stark are still pair-bonded.  Mates fight. When you're done crying, you'll still be bonded. And when you're done fighting, you'll still be bonded.  Nothing is going to change that. You two chose each other and you're making it work. And don't even let yourself think that being an omega makes you weak.  Feeling vulnerable during heat... that's normal. Everyone has vulnerabilities, regardless of their station. You're an inspiration, Captain, to so many people... you're stronger than nearly anyone I know.  Including a lot of Alphas." He gave Steve's hand a squeeze and lapsed back into silence, looking around the room. He resisted the urge to tear it apart and nest. He also resisted the urge to seem too gleeful about spending his heat with Captain America.


	19. Bond Exploitation, part II

Karpov sat with him until he fell asleep.  The Winter Soldier was a shaking, drooling mess.  Karpov brushed his hair off his face, feeling an almost paternal affection, mixed with disgust.  Years of delicate programming, undone in an instant. His obedient, loyal soldier, reduced to this.  And still, Stark was alive, Rogers was inaccessible, and they were no closer to their objective than before.

Karpov had inherited him from his previous handler.  He was the only one in the program who hadn't either gone feral or failed programming.  In order to be considered truly programmed, they needed to overcome base instincts, like self-preservation.  40% of the recruits failed the final test. They would be perfectly coordinated, pliant, suggestive... but when it came to drowning themselves, they simply couldn't.  Of course, that figure was slightly exaggerated. It was more like 30% that failed to drown themselves and then 10% that successfully managed to but weren't revived properly.  That was the scientists' fault, not the recruits.

When his charge finally fell into a fitful, feverish slumber, Karpov took himself outside for a smoke.  There was another agent there.

"Hello, Vasily," he said.

"Hello, Yasic," said Karpov wearily.  Yaroslav was a young man, a lieutenant generally well-liked by the rest of HYDRA.  Karpov found him to be obnoxious and childish, not serious enough.

"How's your boy?"

"Ruined," said Karpov darkly.  "I've had him nearly thirty years and they've reduced him to a mess.  That damned witch... I don't like her. Never have. The control we have over her and her rabbit, it's tenuous at best."

"It's all about control with you, isn't it?"

"It's my job."

Yasic leaned his elbows on the railing and inhaled, looking out over the dark city below them.  "...is it true that he'll do anything?"

"Anything I command him to."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Yasic gave him sly smile.  "So have you ever...?"

Karpov stared at him blankly.

"...you know..." pressed Yasic, elbowing him.

Karpov realized what he meant.  His hand shot out and he slapped Yasic; his cigarette went flying.

"How _dare_ you.  How _dare_ you even _suggest_ such a disgusting misuse of my soldier.  This is why the world is in such a state of disgrace, people like you who think with their dicks instead of their minds!  Fuck you, Yaroslav!"

He flicked his cigarette away in revulsion and turned.

"Hail, HYDRA," called Yasic after him.

Karpov held up a middle finger as he left.  His dislike for Yasic had just increased tenfold.  The idea of using the soldier like that was about as revolting to him as the idea of using one of the K-9 units, or the barrel of his gun.  The soldier was equipment. Nothing more. Perhaps that was why he found the use of the witch and of the soldier's bond so distasteful. The soldier shouldn't have a bond; he shouldn't have memories; he was a shell, an organic robot, not a person.

During their first years together, admittedly, Karpov had made him kneel, pressed his cheek into his thigh.  Karpov wasn't bonded and he was curious what it felt like. It felt like nothing in particular, to be honest.  But it had impressed on him the idea that HYDRA had instilled in him earlier, that all men would someday be equal.  Alphas and omegas would _both_ kneel; men of all stations would be unified under a singular, totalitarian utopia.  One in which men of elevated minds (like Karpov) would dictate their actions, and men like Yasic and the soldier would be happy, mindless automatons, dedicated to service and production.  To Karpov, that was a beautiful idea.

As much as he believed in the idealism of HYDRA, however, he didn't trust it.  He knew his time was coming to an end. He knew too much and now that they were stripping the soldier of his programming, Karpov was no longer really needed as a handler.  He had already made preparations. He knew they would try to eliminate him; he had no intention of letting that happen. He would pack lightly, taking only a few things. His clothes, his cigarettes, some weapons... and of course, the Winter Soldier's book, the last little memento of their time together.  When the time came, he would leave, disappear into "retirement." And when HYDRA finally establish their new world order, then he would be able to come out of the shadows, a hero, and take his rightful place within the organization.

He stopped by the soldier's holding cell to check on him.  He was lying there, shaking, eyes staring blank and unfocused.  The hair on the back of his neck had spiked and he had an impressive erection.  Both normal reactions to electroshock.

His eyes slid over to Karpov and he reached out weakly.  "Steve," he slurred.

"Sleep," commanded Karpov.  The soldier's eyes closed, and Karpov left.

* * *

Steve sat in companionable silence next to Phil.  He'd never shared a heat with another omega before.  It was kind of nice.  Less lonely.

"You were a good person to wake up to," he whispered. "You were so good Phil. So patient and I never thanked you for that...I just resented all of you for keeping me in quarantine. Though of course I know why you did it. It's why I accepted this mission in the first place; I was so goddamn desperate to get out..."

Phil squeezed his hand. "It was my pleasure."

They fell quiet again.

"I was so happy, you know. When we found you and when we found out what you were. I couldn't describe it to anyone who wasn't an O; I don't think they'd understand how much it meant. It meant everything. It meant we could do anything if we could be Captain America."

Steve swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Well, even if I can beat up Nazis good, apparently I'm not good at relationships."

Phil sighed quietly. "I don't think anyone really is."

"I just don't think he can trust me. Ever since the beginning, when I spied on him, and then with Bucky...when I tell him that it's him I want, why doesn't he believe me? I've said it so much. I've given him everything. But I can't _make_ him believe me."

"This is your heat. You go through lots of highs and lows...you'll be okay again in an hour Steve."

"I don't want to have sex with him," Steve said abruptly. "Not after what he just said."

"In an hour you might not think that," Phil pointed out gently. Steve shook his head.

"I don't want to. I'm mad at him. I don't _want_ to. Can we leave the house?"

"You have to stay near the suits."

Steve let his head fall into his hands. Phil curled an arm around him. He smelt nice. Not in a sexual way but in a comforting one. It almost felt paternal, the way he had his arm around Steve.

"You're a good drawer. I had no idea," Phil commented as he finally glanced around. Steve half smiled.

"Thanks."

Then Steve slumped over, hissing as a spasm shuddered through him. He felt a low heat coil in his belly and screwed his eyes shut as he let out a short huff of hot air. "Fuck," he whispered. Phil didn't let go of his hand even when Steve squeezed tighter. "It's coming back."

So first he would get high again, and manic. And then he would get horny. Wonderful.

...fucking heats.

* * *

Pepper had long since learned to channel her anger and annoyance toward Tony into production.  Really, it was the only way to deal with him. She went to the bedroom first, to try to clean up some of the mess there.  Not strictly her job, but Tony always gave the entire house staff the last week of December and the second week of March off so he could be alone.  She wasn't going to let a puddle of vomit sit around for a week, and she didn't expect anyone else to deal with it.

She stripped off the sweat-stained sheets, cleaned up the vomit, picked up the last of the pottery shards, and took the orchid downstairs to find a proper pot for it.  Her next stop was the lounge. The couch was clearly ruined beyond rescuing, as were the blankets there; sweat, semen, and even a little bit of blood had rendered them thoroughly unsalvageable.  She didn't bother touching that mess and turned to leave without having done anything, deciding the lounge was a lost cause.

Then her eye caught something glittering on the floor.

She picked it up; a set of tarnished dogtags.

BARNES JAMES B

32557038  T41 B P

"JARVIS," she called.  "How do I read military dog tags?"

"For which branch?" asked JARVIS.

"...army, I think."

"Military identification tags are printed with the name of the soldier, the soldier's identification number, vaccination information, blood type, and religion."

Pepper examined the tags, then slipped them into her pocket.  It would be better for Steve to deal with the tags later; the last thing in the world she needed was for Tony to find them and set him off again.

In his office, Tony managed to smoke a cigarette and a half before he felt sick.  He shoved the pack back into his desk and swiveled in the chair, feeling buzzed from the nicotine but watery from lack of food and too much alcohol.

He felt a sharp yank in his gut.  Like someone had hook him with a fish hook.  He groaned and keeled over. The hell?

 _Steve_.

Tony felt furious.  How dare his body betray him like this.  He was mad at Steve. Steve had tried to kill him, he couldn't trust Steve not to kill him, and Steve had a fucking side fuck, something he hadn't allowed Tony to have.  Steve didn't deserve--

_Mate him._

The imperative was so strong and so sudden it was like the Voice of God.  (Not that Tony believed in that stuff.)

He felt hurt and betrayed and angry, and he could feel Steve, feeling hurt and rejected... and yet, despite every awful, negative emotion...

"Fuck," he said outloud, standing.  Where would Steve have scrambled off to?  He poked his nose out into the hall; Pepper was just coming out of the lounge.

"You might want to avoid that room," he advised her.

"Yeah.  I saw," she said, nose wrinkling.  "Where are you off to?"

"I gotta mate Steve."

"You mean apologize to Steve?"

"No.  I mean mate," said Tony brusquely, blowing past her down the hall.  Pepper stared after him, fascinated. She wasn't sure how much of this was Tony being Tony (ie, an asshole) and how much of this was his instinct taking over his brain.

Tony checked the bedroom, immediately concluded Steve wasn't there, and then checked the studio.  He should have checked there first. The room was thick with the smell of him. Tony's neck prickled.

" _Steve_ ," he said.  Steve looked up; so did Phil.  They were sitting on the floor together, holding hands.  Tony's mouth watered; he might as well have found the two of them in the midst of a naked pillow fight.

"I don't want to mate," was the first thing that came out of Steve's mouth. In about ten minutes he'd be pliant and probably wouldn't protest, his body would want it and his mind would accept that but right now he could still be stubborn. Right now Steve could still be mad at Tony. Mad at him for pinning him down on the floor for an hour as he bled and mad at him for saying he wanted to break their bond.

"I should leave. Do you want me to leave, Steve?" Phil asked, watching Tony tentatively like a rabbit might a fox. Tony definitely wanted Steve, no doubt about it, but Phil didn't especially want to see _that_.

Steve didn't reply. He was standing now, looking determined as hell as he stared Tony down. Neither Alpha nor omega moved and neither of them looked at Phil either. He was beginning to hover quite awkwardly.

"Okay. That's it. I'm leaving..."

Steve reached out a hand to Phil. A signal. "Don't leave me with him.  I don't wanna mate."

Tony's eyes narrowed.  "Like _hell_ you don't want to mate, you _stink_ like sex."  He didn't like the way Steve was eyeing him.  Aggressively, dominantly... like another Alpha.  He spared Phil a glance. "I'm down for a threesome if you are."

Phil barked out a laugh.  "In your dreams, Stark."

"Since when are omegas so goddamn level-headed in heat?  You want it. I want it. We're all adults here. I say we have a good, hard hate-fuck and then never talk about it again," said Tony.

"That's your _modus operandi,_ isn't it?" sneered Phil.

"More of my _magna opera_ ," said Tony.  He took a step toward Steve and pointed.  "You have no right to be mad at me. _None_.  First you lied to me about who you were.  You spied on me. Then, _after_ we mated, I found out about Barnes.  Another thing you lied to me about. About already having a mate.  And then, less than two hours ago, _you tried to kill me_.  You know how close you came?  Huh? Your fist was about two inches from my head, Steve.  And don't try to say, _Oh, it wasn't me, it was Bucky_ , because it's still your fault for being bonded to another Alpha in the first place."

He glared at Steve, shaking with barely controlled rage.  He was pretty pleased he'd managed to get all that out as eloquently as he had, considering how thick the pheromones in the room were.  His body was screaming at him to just _pounce_ and the main thing keeping him from doing so was the knowledge that Steve could wrestle him to the floor like a kitten.

Steve was trembling with frustration, both the sexual and the angry kind. His hands flexed by his sides like he was ready to catch a punch, not like he really expected one was coming.

"I thought he was _dead_ . You act like I did this on purpose but do you seriously think I would have done this to you if I'd known the truth? I spent the last months of my life thinking I wasn't even mated anymore. And it was shit. It was the most degrading thing I've ever experienced in my entire life.  And maybe, okay, I didn't deserve a second chance. But I wanted one. I thought I was dead and then I wasn't and then you came along and you wanted me and I thought that maybe, after everything, I could finally have what I always dreamed of...but then no. Bucky has to come and fuck it up again. Because he won't let me go...and do you think I'm _happy_ about that? I'm goddamn furious. However angry you think it makes you I feel it tenfold Tony. He's already ruined my life once, I'm not going to let him do it to me again.  And do you think I'm happy that I nearly killed you? Really? Because I'm not. I'm fucking terrified. I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this and you're acting like...like I'm going it on purpose. I don't know why you'd think that. I don't know why you'd think that I'd ever want to do this to you. And it kills me that I can't stop it!" Steve exclaimed.

At some point Phil had slipped away. Neither of them had noticed.

"You should have _told_ me," hissed Tony, stepping forward again.  Steve wasn't backing down, was still maintaining eye contact.  "You didn't _tell_ me you were bonded.  You think I wouldn't maybe want to know that before I took you?  You don't think maybe that's the sort of thing your mate's entitled to know?"

He began pacing.  Steve's smell was so rich, so complex.  He was trying to breathe through his mouth but he could practically taste it and his whole body was quivering with desperate anticipation.

"And _another thing._  This fucking forced monogamy.  I haven't touched a woman since May!  What the hell, Steve? You're allowed to double-bond, and I can't even fool around?  I get that you have an image to protect and I've been nothing but supportive of that, but enough's enough!  When do I get to start fooling around again?" He stalked back and forth, body tense, screaming at him for relief.  "None of this is fair, I didn't ask to be dragged into SHIELD, I didn't ask to meet you, all I wanted to do was to just be Iron Man and I didn't even ask for that, either, I just wanted to drink and party and fuck beautiful women and I got dragged into all this covert government and omega civil rights stuff, and frankly I think I've been handling it really well, but I'm not going to let you cuckold me, Buckold me, whatever.  If I can't have a mistress then you can't have another Alpha. It's not fucking fair."

Tony was vaguely aware that there was nothing Steve could do about being accidentally double-bonded but he was too manic to stop.  He vaguely remembered Pepper telling him how Alphas got aggressive during their mate's heats... well, why not? After all, there was another threat, another Alpha, _Bucky_ , looming over them at all times, even when they were alone... until he fought Bucky to the death and established his rightful ownership of Steve, he was always going to feel this way, paranoid and betrayed and overly defensive.

 _He's mine_ , thought Tony deliriously.  _My omega, mine._

At some point in Tony's rant, Steve's eyes dropped and then began watering.  He pressed into the wall, smaller, posture submissive, and when Tony told him to kneel, he dropped like an invisible hand had shoved him down.

"I don't want him. I swear I don't want him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please Tony. I didn't realise you'd want other people. I didn't realise I wouldn't be enough. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'll be better. I'll try. I'm sorry." At some point Steve's gaze had dropped and he was falling, his fierceness dissipating as he curled in on himself. It hurt. It hurt so much he felt sick in his mouth and his hear and his stomach. He wasn't good enough for his Alpha. He wanted other people. Steve wasn't good enough. He was tainted. Bucky had ruined him without even touching him.

Bucky had ruined everything and yet... he was the only reason Steve had made it this far. Fate was cruel to him.

Tony stopped pacing.  "I'm going to mate you now," he informed Steve.  "Kneel."

Steve backed away until he was plastered against the wall, eyes red with the threat of tears. Phil told him it was good to cry...Steve didn't know if that counted in front of his Alpha. He sucked in a shaky breath as the command washed over him and he obeyed on instinct. It was like breathing. He dropped down to his knees with all the grace that a soldier should, his head bowed low and his shoulders still shaking a little.

Tony felt immediately placated.  His anger evaporated, leaving behind a feeling of miserable emptiness that he realized was his mate's.

He stepped forward and put a hand on Steve's head; his hair was damp with sweat.  He guided Steve's head to his thigh and Steve pressed his face into the fabric of Tony's pants.  Tony automatically began petting him, heart hammering. The confrontation was over and now... now what?

"It's okay," said Tony softly, hoarsely.  "My omega. It's okay. You did good." Under his fingers Steve was trembling and he felt... weak.  It was disconcerting, seeing Steve so utterly broken like this. Tony felt guilty and confused because this wasn't Steve, or at least, not the Steve he was used to.

A sudden, inappropriate memory: when Tony was ten or eleven he remembered reading a comic book series called _Steve Rogers: America's Alpha_.  It had been a surprisingly violent series that centered on Captain America taking out various baddies, mostly the Soviets.

Another thing Tony felt he'd been lied to about, although it wasn't Steve's fault, the way he'd been portrayed all these years.  And he'd come out, hadn't he? Still, Tony couldn't help but feel gypped. He'd admired the Alpha Steve Rogers in those comics. He felt a lot of resentment toward his father for not bothering to correct his notions of Steve's status.

 _I bet those comics are worth a fortune now,_ he thought vaguely, his hand still stroking Steve's hair.

If Steve cried, he cried silently, his face pressed against Tony's leg, slowly making his trousers damp. "No..." he whispered. "Not good enough." And then he went quiet, letting his eyes screw shut.

Steve tried to focus on the feeling of his mate's hand in his hair, stroking slowly. He trembled against him in a strange kind of relief and didn't even cry out when another wave of heat racked through his body. It was nothing compared to the pain of disappointing his Alpha.

"I'm sorry. So sorry..."

Maybe it was his heat making him delirious again. Steve wasn't aware of it. All he knew was that he was disappointing his Alpha like he had the last. And like last time his Alpha was going to turn to women because Steve wasn't enough, was he? Because Steve was sick and weedy and he was no good... Right? Or...something like that. Yes. That made sense. Sort of.

"I..." Steve seemed to gather himself for a brief second. "I don't want to ruin any of the pictures. Please. They haven't done anything wrong."

Tony's hand paused on Steve's head.  "Don't want to ruin... what?" He didn't understand what the hell Steve was talking about, but he was more concerned with comforting him.  Now that Steve wasn't staring him down, Tony's anger had shifted into protectiveness. The fact that he was the source of Steve's distress wasn't registering.  "Steve, you're not... not ruining anything... you're being good... I love you," said Tony, pressing Steve's head comfortingly into his leg.

His other hand came over to pluck at Steve's shirt.  Steve's body had spasmed briefly against Tony's body and Tony's body was responding with enthusiasm, which was probably part of the reason Tony was having a hard time sorting out his feelings and his thoughts.

 _I'm having mood swings,_ he thought, but it was a detached observation, as if he were thinking about someone else.  He'd never felt this, this Alpha aggression or this furious jealousy, perhaps because he'd never actually cared about anyone like this, except Pepper, who was, at least around him, apparently completely asexual.

"It's going to be okay.  I'll keep you from him. You're mine.  You're safe with me," said Tony, resuming his strokes.  He gave the sleeve of Steve's shirt another tug with his other hand.

"The pictures. We'll ruin them. We're not mating in here," Steve shook his head against Tony's leg, his eyes still screwed shut. He just focused on the feeling of Tony's hand in his hair and didn't really understand what his Alpha wanted when he began to tug at his shirt.

Steve was shivering again with the heat, his eyes glazed over under his eyelids.  When he opened his eyes the world was unfocused like he was viewing it underwater His fingers tingled and he flexed them. Yes. That would keep away the frostbite. He didn't want to lose his fingers. Tony wouldn't like him without fingers; his lungs were already so bad-

Wait. His lungs were fine, weren't they?

"If I was good I would be enough. Don't you understand that I'm sorry? Don't you _understand_?" Steve was so far removed from the captain on the battlefield it was eerie. The man who knew just how far he could bend back a knee without breaking it was gone and a shivering omega who was desperate for validation was in his place.

Then he stilled for a moment and looked up at Tony, wet eyes open to stare up at his Alpha. "Are you going to kill him?" He whispered. A beat of silence. "I want to watch."

Tony didn't even hesitate.  "Yes," he said. The word was a growl, and a promise.  Of course he'd kill for his mate. Of course he'd destroy the other Alpha, leaving Steve pure again, his and his alone.

He realized what Steve was trying to say.  He didn't want to mate in the studio, with the drawing on the wall staring at them.

That was fine.  They'd go back to the nest in the lounge or maybe make a new one downstairs.  It was the omega's job to figure out the nest situation, so Tony wasn't overly concerned.  He was happy to take Steve pretty much anywhere, as long as he got to, because he could feel Steve's body, warm against his leg, trembling, and smell his wetness, and he was feeling a renewed confidence in his ownership of his omega, since a) Steve was kneeling and being extremely submissive to him, b) he had vowed to kill his competitor and it was actually the perfect solution to their problem.

"C'mon.  If you want to be mated in your nest you gotta show it to me," demanded Tony.  "Don't want to ruin your pic--"

_"Hey, fellows, mind if I take your picture?"_

_Bucky and Steve turned around.  They were strolling along the boardwalk, arms linked.  Coney Island wasn't busy; it was a Tuesday in June, and Bucky had gotten his draft notice, and the two of them were trying to just enjoy each other's company without thinking too hard about it.  Which was pretty difficult because Bucky had gotten his uniform and was currently wearing it._

_"Why, what's the catch?" demanded Bucky suspiciously.  The man who had spoken to them had a heavy mustache and was holding up a camera eagerly.  He looked like a huckster if ever Bucky had seen one._

_"No catch.  Just think you two are a good-lookin' pair.  Nice strong Alpha in uniform, out for a stroll on a beautiful day, with his sweetheart on his arm.  That's a good picture."_

_"We don't got any money," said Bucky, still convinced this was a scam.  He and the man were talking to each other directly, ignoring Steve. This was completely normal and Steve was used to it.  The man was also an Alpha; he had no reason to address or acknowledge Steve._

_"Free of charge.  Say, if you let me take your picture for my portfolio, I might even give you a copy."_

_Bucky frowned.  "A copy for free?" he pressed._

_"Listen, fellow, I'll level with you, the papers dig pictures of soldiers and next to that little horseshoe you look like Hercules.  It's good propaganda. Helps people get in touch with their patriotic side."_

_"Ehhh..." wavered Bucky._

_"I'll pay you fifteen cents."_

_"Deal," said Bucky immediately._

_He put an arm around Steve and the two of them smiled.  The man took their picture and then offered Bucky his card and three nickels.  "You can pick up a copy at my studio if you want, in a couple of days."_

_"I'll do that," said Bucky, tucking the card into his breast pocket.  He and Steve turned away and kept walking. Bucky offered him the fifteen cents.  "Here. You take it. I just want the picture. I want to have something to take with me when they ship me off."  He looked out over the ocean. "I'm gonna miss you," he added. He looked down at Steve and offered him a small smile.  "I'll be back in two shake's of a lamb's tail, though. I'll bring you back a Kraut helmet or something." He leaned down to nuzzle Steve's hair, to breathe in his scent._

_A few days later he went to the photography studio and picked up the photo of him and Steve; he tucked it into his wallet and it went with him across the Atlantic, across the Alps, through Azzano.  He had it all the way up until Switzerland, when he fell, and he woke up, it was gone, along with his left arm and his dog tags... pieces of himself lost forever in the abyss._

Tony shuddered violently.  A massive headache hit him between the eyes, leaving a series of weird impressions that he didn't understand.  A Ferris wheel, a couple of coins in his hands, the smell of popcorn and seasalt. He felt disoriented, like for a split second he had blacked out, but he was exactly where he was, in Steve's studio, staring at the old arc reactor jammed into the wall and a drawing of a fox climbing out the window, and Steve's smell was thick and persistent.

"Nest," he prompted Steve, nudging him with his knee.

Downstairs, Sitwell was trying to discuss notes with Phil, who had pulled a pile of towels out of a linens closet and also found a hamper with a bunch of dirty clothes, and was currently arranging everything into a pile on the floor with intense concentration.  Pepper was sitting on the end of the couch, feet tucked under her, sleepily sipping a hot cup of tea. She had helped Phil move some of the orchids to clear space, but he'd snapped at her when she tried to help with the nest ("That doesn't go there!" _That_ being a pair of Steve's discard boxers.) and she had given up, content to watch him scurry around arranging things to his liking.

"--what Steve said, about a witch, really, it does seem likely that was a hallucination or misunderstanding, though, yes?" prompted Sitwell.

"Hm," said Phil, pushing the piles of towels around with a look of intense concentration, shoving piles of towels around, trying to fill in any gaps.

Wordlessly, Pepper offered him a throw that was draped over the back of the couch; Phil took it and added it to the pile.

"--I just don't want people creating, you know, imaginary monsters.  Thinking HYDRA possesses witchcraft," said Sitwell, with an awkward chuckle.

"No, no," agreed Phil distractedly, pushing a t-shirt aside.  He flung a dishrag out of the nest, no longer wanting it, then the box Natasha had given Steve.  A small piece of paper fluttered out of it.

Pepper reached out and picked it up, examining it.  A well-worn, sepia-toned photo showed two men on a pier, smiling, arms around each other.  One was handsome, in uniform. The other was a head shorter, with light hair, wearing slacks and a white button-up and suspenders: civilian clothes.  It took her a moment, but there was no mistaking the likeness. The civilian was Steve.

She blinked and turned the paper over.  There were very few pictures indeed of Steve taken before the serum, and those were on display in museums.  This one was entirely new.

On the back was the year, 1943.

"What's that?" demanded Phil.

"Nothing," said Pepper, tucking it into her pocket with the dogtags.  "Just wrapping from that box. I'll toss it out."

She got up to gather up the two pieces of the box and dispose of them.  When she returned, her mug and teabag had disappeared, buried under a pair of hand towels on the outer edge of Phil's nest.

* * *

"We shouldn't go for twelve hours again. That was too much," Steve tried to say, too out of it to notice how Tony seemed to hesitate for a second and perhaps even disappear. Steve felt sympathy pain for his headache but that was normal in heats, when your body wanted to mate but you didn't.

"Huh?  Yeah," agreed Tony, shaking the phantom memory from his head.

Steve stood slowly, tentatively and moved to take Tony's hand before leading him out of the drawing room. It was a sacred place. Nothing would ever desecrate it on Steve's watch. He wondered what he'd do when the walls were full... if Tony would let him take another room.

Steve pulled a face at their bedroom. Nothing good had happened in there and there was still a faint smell of vomit. He lead Tony away and eventually back towards heir old nest. It smelt strong and familiar and safe and there was still some pills up here too.

He distantly realized his left hand still hurt and that the fingers were probably sprained but that didn't need to be fixed right this minute. Steve just tugged Tony towards the sofa and straddled his lap once they got there, his hands curling around his Alpha's shoulders.

Downstairs, a few minutes later, they could hear banging. Sitwell oh-so-subtly flicked the radio on and turned the volume up. Pepper sent him a grateful look. Then he was pulling a hand gun out of his pocket and pointing it at the doorway. An omega in a plaid shirt and a wooden jumper, who looked utterly harmless, put his hands up.

"I'm the doctor," he filled in.

"It's good to see you David. We'll get Steve to come downstairs as soon as he's... able."

"Right," Gleason cleared his throat. He watched Phil making tactical piles of cushions. "Is he hurt?"

"He punched a wall. Well, we don't know if it was him," Pepper said quietly. "Some people messed with his head. They-"

"Ah! That's classified!" Sitwell butted in and Pepper rolled her eyes.

"But I'm his doctor. I can't treat him if I don't know what's going on," Gleason pointed out and moved to sit down on a sofa opposite Pepper with his bags in his lap. He didn't want Phil to take them by accident. He would have tried to introduce himself but the omega seemed quite obsessed with his task.

"All you need to know is that Steve has gone through some trauma and had a bit of a depressive episode. Or something along those lines."

Gleason sent Pepper a worried look. "Is he going to be okay?"

Pepper gave her head a shake of uncertainty.  "He's bonded to Tony. The guy's a walking disaster.  And I say that as his best friend. The two of them were fighting earlier but... now..."

"Very common, actually.  Alphas in particular are prone to mood swings when their mate is in heat," said Gleason, pulling off his glasses to clean them.

"Give me that," demanded Phil suddenly, pointing to Sitwell's notebook.

"What?  No!"

"Give it."

"I said no."

"One of Steve's friends?" guessed Gleason, watching Phil curiously.

"Agent Phil Coulson.  He, Steve, and another omega, they work closely together.  Clint is with his Alpha," explained Pepper. "He was scaling the fridge earlier.  It's been a bit of a mess here."

"I suspect that, considering the state of Captain Rogers' body, his heats are rather more intense than most," said Gleason.  "Has he been following his prescriptions?"

Pepper winced.  "...sort of. He threw up earlier."

Gleason frowned.  "Has he been eating?"

"No.  They've just been... interested in each other," said Pepper.

Phil looked up.  "Like teenagers."

"To be fair, Rogers is technically still in his twenties," said Pepper.

"Yes.  True."

"The trauma... it involved his previous mate," said Pepper, watching Sitwell closely.  Sitwell was gazing at them like a hawk, clearly ready to intervene if she tried to give Gleason too many details.

Gleason's brow furrowed.  "...it's very unusual for an omega to double-bond," he said.  "I've only seen it twice, actually. And in both cases, the Alphas were acers.  ...liked other Alphas," he explained to Sitwell, who looked confused.

"Tony doesn't like other Alphas.  Or generally men, for that matter," said Pepper.

"Mm.  Yes. ...I'd like to talk to Steve in private about his situation," said Gleason.  "My concern, of course, is for everyone's safety. Two Alphas bonded to the same omega... could get gritty."

"He didn't do it on purpose," Phil piped up in Steve's defense. "He thought his old mate was dead."

"Coulson!" Sitwell hissed in disapproval. Gleason's eyebrows raised.

"How very strange. But surely he could still feel his old bond?"

"Now that is definitely classified," Sitwell insisted and Phil grumbled something under his breath before moving to dismantle the sofa pieces and create some kind of fort with them. Maybe he would calm down if he felt like he had some kind of shelter to sit inside.

"When do you think it will be safe to brave it and go upstairs?" Gleason mused, staring up at the ceiling as the vast white expanse would somehow provide an answer.

Sitwell turned down the radio for a moment and everyone cocked an ear.  Upstairs, it was quiet.

Upstairs, Tony was hugging Steve to him, heart pounding, breathing heavily after another orgasm.  He nosed Steve's ear. He was still furious, yet also affectionate; his mind and his body were tugging him in all directions.  His knot throbbed inside of Steve, who was wrapped around him like a spider monkey.

"I'll reclaim you," promised Tony softly.  "I'll kill him. You're mine. All mine." He nosed Steve again.  "My omega." That was really the only solution, as far as Tony could tell.

Which meant he had to get that self-assembling armor put together as soon as possible.  Unless he wanted to haul around the Mark IV constantly, he would need the Mark VII battle-capable, ready to summon it whenever Bucky reared his head again.

Of course, he hadn't actually ever gotten to see Bucky.  Bucky had tormented his mind, tormented Steve's. Steve had seen Bucky once when Tony wasn't there.  But, so far, Tony had never gotten to see his competition, to smell him, size him up. Not that it was necessary.  Tony was sure that Bucky would be more dominant than him. The truth is, Tony was not an especially aggressive Alpha and he rarely met Alphas submissive to him.

But this wasn't about social standing.  This was a fight for Steve, and Tony didn't care who he was up against; he would fight to the death for his mate.  Even if he was mad at him.

Steve reached his fingers up to gently push damp hair back from Tony's forehead. He didn't look especially with it, his gaze a little unfocused but he seemed to understand what Tony was saying. He didn't comment. There was no need to. Everything Tony was saying was true. He just hummed and butted their foreheads together affectionately.

"Doctor Gleason would like to know if he could come upstairs soon to check Steve over?" JARVIS' voice chimed over head, breaking the quiet of the moment.

Steve stared down at where their bodies were joined together and eloquently replied, "uhh..."

Tony reached out wearily and dragged a blanket over them.  "Send him up," he said. Tony, unlike Steve, was used to having lucid conversations while balls-deep in another person.  He looked down, saw Steve's expression, and rolled his eyes. "Fine... hold on..."

He reached down and, wincing, worked his knot out of Steve, both of them hissing a little at the tightness.

Steve huffed in discomfort as Tony pulled out of him but he'd rather that small instant of pain than Gleason see him like this. Sure, he'd technically stuck up how fingers up Steve's ass but Steve would still prefer to retain some decency.

Tony tugged the blanket around himself.  He felt shaky and queasy. He had decided heats weren't nearly as fun as they were cracked up to be.  Every time he thought about Bucky, which was about every five seconds, a flame of anger shivered up his spine.  The hair on the back of his neck was permanently spiked.

"Sir, Miss Potts would like to know if you've eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours," said JARVIS.

Tony's mind sluggishly tried to remember.

"...no," he admitted, leaning on Steve.  He didn't want to leave his omega alone. "Just... tell her to send something up with the doctor."  He reached over to place his hand on the back of Steve's neck, to stroke the bonding mark there.

He had gotten used to Dr. Gleason and didn't feel threatened by him.  He wondered if most omegocologists were omegas themselves, and how an Alpha would be able to convince another Alpha to examine an omega while said omega was in heat.  Tony didn't want any other Alphas around Steve, certainly not now.

He leaned his head atop of Tony's as the other leant against him and let his eyes slip shut. Steve sighed softly.

About ten minutes later Gleason appeared with a plate full of sandwiches, looking a little sheepish, but not awkward, as he walked over. The sandwiches were mostly cheese and pickle with some thin slices of meat in them. He set them down on a table a safe distance away from the ruined sofa.

The doctor had seen him naked before but Steve still crossed his legs to cover himself a little.

Gleason gestured to the cut on Steve's belly. "I hear that today hasn't been kind to you."

"No," Steve affirmed quietly. "It hasn't."

"Any other injuries?"

"Just bruising."

Gleason nodded slowly and looked over to Tony. He could see the tension in the alpha's shoulders. Slowly, the doctor set his bag down.

"Are you hurt, Mr Stark?"

Tony's jaw tightened a little, teeth clenching.  "He missed me," he reported, a little harsher than he meant to.

He reached for a sandwich to distract from the awkwardness and began peeling it apart.  Steve had witnessed this behavior before. Sometimes Tony dissected food, as if he was worried that there might be something hidden inside of it.

"Steve and me... we can feel his other...."  Tony's concentration on the sandwich was intense.  Perhaps to distract from his words. "...feel his other Alpha.  Earlier they... swapped, I guess."

"Swapped," repeated Gleason.

"Like, bodies."

Gleason blinked.

Tony looked up.  "It's not possible, is it?"

"I've never heard anything like it.  The way that bonding ties together consciousness is not well understood," said the doctor reasonably.

"I'm not going to share him," said Tony.  The words were growled, not spoken. Gleason noted the bristling, the slight curve of his upper lip.

Steve accepted the sandwich when it was offered and chewed at it slowly. It was weird not having an appetite; Steve was usually always hungry. The pickle was sweet yet sharp, like the kind his mother used to make. He liked it.

He shivered when Tony's fingers trailed down the curve of his spine.

"No one's asking you to share anything Tony," Steve pointed out quietly. Bucky quite clearly wanted Tony dead too. There was no sharing to be had in any shape or form.

"...there's no way for us omegas break bonds, I'm afraid, that anyone knows," Gleason said sympathetically.

Tony inched over, practically into Steve's lap, resisting the urge to lie down on him, cover him.  He reached out and took another sandwich, and offered it to Steve. He didn't say what he was thinking: that death broke bonds.  That he could kill Bucky and then that would be that.

"I want Steve to be safe from him," said Tony, one hand running down Steve's back.

"Mentally, heats are a very... vulnerable time.  Bonds are strongest during heats," said Gleason, addressing Steve.  "Once you're out the other side, you should feel him less strongly."

"He can't have two Alphas," said Tony to no one in particular.  Gleason didn't comment on this, opting instead to keep speaking with Steve.  He asked him about the potted plant Tony had brought down on his head, asking him to follow his finger with his eyes, shone a pen light into his eyes.  At the end, he declared that Steve, miraculously, didn't appear to have a concussion.

"Considering the... intensity of your connection... have you tried to communicate with him?" asked Gleason.

Tony began to protest but then Gleason's beeper went off.  He checked it; his eyes lit up. "I'm sorry; I have to go. Do you have any more questions for me?  Anything I can do to help?" he asked Steve. He gestured to the beeper and then added, quietly, "Jeffrey's just gone into labor.  You know Jeff? ...head of the Horseshoe Society council?"

He patched up the small cut on Steve's stomach properly so even during the heat the bandage wouldn't come off and left some slave for the bruise on his head invade it didn't go down. Steve as grateful and so didn't point out that the serum would be rid of it by tomorrow morning.

"No? But I hope it goes okay," Steve said. He could Gleason looked both stressed and excited at the news. A baby just in time for Christmas...the couple must feel lucky, Steve figured.

Tony felt warm pressed up against his side.

"What kind of breaks should be taking?" Steve asked a little awkwardly. "Like...every few hours, or...?"

"Try and sleep every ten or so. Give yourselves a break at least every two hours else you might hurt yourselves," Gleason said and cleared his throat. "I have salve for that too. If you need it."

Tony cleared his throat a little awkwardly.  "Actually, I, uh..."

Gleason looked at him pointedly.

"...my knot," mumbled Tony with a vague gesture.  Then, with renewed confidence, stated, "...it's basically hamburger meat at this point."

"You're a true wordsmith, Mr. Stark," said the doctor with a light smile.  He pulled a tube of ointment out of his bag and offered it to Tony. Tony took it gratefully.

Gleason rose.  "You have my number, Captain, if you need anything at all.  Jeff's having twins so I might not be able to answer right away, but I'll do my best to be accessible.  ...just remembered, heats are temporarily. You'll both feel a lot more level-headed by the end of the week.  Merry Christmas."

"Thank you doctor. You too," Steve nodded, sharing a small smile with Gleason as the doctor rose.

Tony watched him stand up.  He had questions, like what the fuck to do if Steve turned into Bucky again.  But he didn't know how to ask them so he let Gleason leave.

When the door had closed behind them, he turned to Steve and began lapping at his throat.

On instinct Steve leaned into the touch before he even thought about if he wanted to.

"Can't you just... tell him to back off?  Reject him? Pepper said you get to choose.  Right? That's the whole rage nowadays, omegas choosing their mates.  Can't you... mentally... just say no? _Make_ him leave us alone?" asked Tony.  It was a distasteful idea to him. He felt that, as the Alpha in the relationship, he ought to be the one to tell Bucky not back off, not Steve.  But blah blah blah, civil rights and stuff, equality, et cetera.

That question though... it made him pause. Steve swallowed.  "If I felt like I could communicate with him then this would be a lot simpler. I don't even know if he's capable of communication, Tony. I'm not even sure he's still...a person anymore," Steve whispered and felt almost mournful. If Bucky had died in the fall it might have been easier than this...seeing him as a weapon for the very cause that he died fighting against, that wasn't easy. It made Steve feel sick that they'd ruined the memory of him like that.

"I don't want to think about him anymore," Steve sighed and leaned into Tony's touch, blue eyes flitting to his crotch. "Are you...very sore there? Because if you are we don't have to..."

"I want to," said Tony immediately, instinctively.  He _was_ sore, terribly sore, but his body was reacting already to that blue flick of Steve's eyes.

He felt a sudden lump form in his throat.  Yeah, mood swings. Fucking hell.

"Steve, I don't... I don't want to break the bond, I'm sorry I upset you," he choked out, burying his face into Steve's neck.  Steve's whole body was shining with sweat even though he was naked. Tony's teeth brushed against Steve's skin, his throat... he found Steve's hand and tangled their fingers together.  "This sucks, this fucking sucks, in movies and porn and stuff, heats are always fun and sexy..." whined Tony, pushing Steve down. He kneed Steve's legs apart and pulled away from Steve's neck to observe his face.

Steve's eyes flicked out automatically, respectfully.  Tony's heart ached. He leaned down to kiss Steve's forehead before nudging himself against Steve's entrance.  Wet and warm as ever. Tony let out a shuddery hiss as he slid his length in, finding a slow, gentle rhythm. He settled his body over Steve's, wrapping his arms around him, the earlier betrayal already forgiven.


	20. Steve's Heat, part II

The soldier opened his eyes to find the omega watching him.

"What do you want, horseshoe?" he demanded rudely.  His head felt like it was splitting down the middle and he didn't sit up, worried he might be sick with the pain.

"She wanted me to check on you.  I slipped in after the colonel," said the omega.

"You aren't scared of her."

"She's my sister," said the omega, cocking his head.  "I love her. Are you scared of her?"

"I'm not scared of anything," said the soldier.  It wasn't a boast. He was incapable of feeling fear.  "Others fear her."

"She said that she sent you to kill Stark."

His head swam and he tried to remember.  He squeezed his eyes shut; red shapes bloomed and burst under his eyelids.  "Yes. Howard was there. He was..." The memory was hazy. The emotions bubbled up before the actual facts did.  Anger, betrayal... sadness. "He took my omega."

"You were bonded."

"Yes."  The soldier felt confused.  "Yes. I..." He couldn't remember.  Suddenly he felt worried. Was he allowed to be having this conversation?  "You're not authorized to be here."

"I can go anywhere I want," replied the omega.  "Can you?"

The soldier stared at him from the bed, his aching bed still half-sunk in the pillow.

"Sokovia is a backwards place.  Some rabbits, they still put collars on them, like dogs.  I'll never bond," said the omega. "I'm not a dog. I don't do tricks or mindlessly obey anyone.  I'm my own man." He studied the soldier. "...why do you do everything he tells you?"

"I'm a soldier," said the soldier.

"The war's over."

"The war's never over."

The omega smiled.  "I like you," he said approvingly, rising.  "...once we kill Stark, you can have your omega back."

The soldier stared at him, eyes blank.  "What omega?" he asked.

The rabbit gave him a pitying look and, in a flash, he was gone.

* * *

Both of them agreed that heats were not nearly as romantic or sexy as they were portrayed in the media.

"To be fair, the beginning was a lot less sore and messy than- _this_ -" Steve's breath hitched as Tony pressed inside of him, and his arms curled up on instinct to pull his Alpha closer, one leg hooking around him with his heel pressing into the small of his back. Steve let out a high-pitched please sound and let his head fall back against the sofa as he rocked back with him.

They spent the next two hours on the sofa before Steve finally managed to convince Tony they needed water and food and sleep. He took his round of pills before they both finished off the sandwiches and stumbled into their bedroom. If Steve were less out of it he might have noticed that Pepper had cleaned up but he was dazed and only really had eyes for Tony.

That was until he saw the Mark 6 still in the room, looming almost ominously. It was kind of unnerving and humbling at the same time...to have something stronger than him in the same place. Steve noticed Tony noticing his staring at it and walked back towards the bed. The bruises it had left had faded (super serum perks, and they hadn't been that bad, anyway) but Steve could still remember how cold and strong those metal fingers had felt.

"It's weird," Steve murmured, falling back into the sheets. "I've never met something that could hold me down before..."

Tony gave a small smile.  "You mean post-serum," he said, pushing his arm under Steve's neck to hold him.  "...the Mark 6 has the capacity to toss around semis. Maybe it's overkill. I dunno.  I just... always want it to be better, you know? ...I threw together the first model from scraps but that thing was still something else.  Could've easily thrown a car." He closed his eyes. The Mark 1 had been sloppy, yes. But effective. It had torn through bodies like they were garbage bags filled with vegetable soup.  Had crushed skulls like grapes. Slammed men into iron blast doors and rough-hewn rock walls. Afterwards, Tony couldn't say how many he'd killed. He didn't really want to know, either.

He dismissed the thought.  That had been a lifetime ago.

"Did you like it?  Being held down?" he asked curiously.  "I mean... normally... Alphas pin omegas... just wondering if you ever... well... y'know.  Want that. Obviously I can't really..." He shrugged a little. A pause. "I guess that's why I built it.  Because I wanted to be stronger than myself. Wanted to be able to fight back." His voice lowered. "That's the thing about brains versus brawn.  Someone hits you, you can hit back. When you're smart, you can't hit back. You have to plan. You have to wait. Be patient." He stared at the expressionless mask of the suit of armor, the brilliance of its red and gold sheen.  "I had to wait, for ninety-six days. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but..." He trailed off, still eyeing the suit. "But now I don't have to wait anymore," he finished.

Despite his attempts to not think about it, he was thinking about it.  The sound of metal scraping rock. The bitter cold of the desert in winter.  The way the horse blankets they used had lice, the way the pebbles bit into his knees when Raza pushed him down.

Tony rolled onto his side to throw his other arm around Steve, to hold him.  He closed his eyes and tried to remind himself that mood swings were normal right now, that he was exhausted and over-emotional and that's why this was coming up again.  He was shaking a little.

Silently, he began counting to himself in prime numbers, warding off the memories that plagued him, and he slipped into sleep sometime just after 463.

"I mean...I'm not opposed to the idea. Maybe not in the same context as last time," Steve murmured and curled into Tony's touch, resting his cheek against the other's chest. The edge of the arc reactor was cold against his cheekbone but he didn't mind it much. It felt good to feel Tony's chest rising up and down and the steady beat of his heart underneath. Although it was slowly beginning to accelerate as he felt and heard Tony getting distressed. Steve just moved to curl his arms around him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, stroking his mate's hair until he eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Oh oh God." Pepper had stayed in one of the guest rooms and headed down in the morning to find the living area _transformed_. When Phil had said he was a keen 'nester' he hadn't been joking. Blankets from all over the house, along with cushions and even toilet paper had been molded around chairs and even a table to make a sort of den. It was almost tall enough for a man to stand in and several meters wide either way. Phil had gotten some kind of music playing device inside and was currently blasting out S _ummer of '69_ whilst he lay back on a mound of cushions inside the den itself and slept seemingly peacefully. The den was pointed at the top and very nearly touched the ceiling. Pepper thanked God she didn't have to deal with this in her own life and went to make coffee.

She made Phil a hot chocolate and left it just outside the den for him. It felt wrong to step inside it. It was _his_ space.

Pepper looked up to see Steve coming down the stairs in a dressing gown. It was one of Tony's but it was long enough to keep him decent. He offered her a tired smile. "Coffee?" she offered.

"Please," Steve hummed and then stopped when he saw Phil's creation. His eyes widened.

"Tony still asleep?"

He nodded. "Did...Phil make this all by himself?"

"Apparently."

"That's...that's quite something," Steve breathed as he slowly moved to take a seat on one of the stripped sofas opposite.

Pepper appraised Steve.  His neck had several bruises, yellowed with healing.  Even though he'd been sleeping, there were bags under his eyes, and he was sweating as if he'd been exercising.

"How's it going?" she asked uncertainly.  She was surprised to see Steve without Tony.  Of course, Tony was, at times, notoriously lazy.  And despite Steve's size, she knew he could be stealthy.  He must have slipped away to let Tony get some extra rest.  She could only wonder how Tony was; last she'd seen him, he'd looked downright ill.  A cursory Google search the night before had taught her that, in fact, thousands died annually during sex, most of them older Alphas bonded to younger omegas.  It concerned her, a bit, because even though he was fit, Tony was forty, and Steve, half his age, was also in peak health. And always would be, thanks to the serum.

"Okay. Good, considering," Steve replied softly and accepted the coffee mug she gave him in thanks. He pulled the fruit bowl towards him and began picking at grapes. He wasn't overly hungry but he felt like he needed something.

Pepper's eye caught some movement; Phil's hand snaked out and pushed the mug of cocoa away from the entrance to his nest.

"Phil?  Do you want something else?"

"Sex."

Pepper blinked and her ears went pink with the frankness of Phil's answer.  "Something I can make in the kitchen, I meant."

"No."  It was almost a groan, and she got the impression he was in pain, or at least discomfort.  She felt a pang of pity and then admonished herself for it; it felt prejudiced, wrong. After all, none of them pitied her for having menstrual cycles.

Steve half-smiled when Phil gave his grumpy reply. He knew what it was like and he couldn't imagine the pain of it, and having to be around other people too.  "There's more privacy upstairs if you want privacy..." Steve offered gently. "And, er-" he cleared his throat. " _Stuff_ which might help."

Phil just replied with a soft, "hmph."

Pepper decided to switch the topic.  "Danielle McDavid seemed nice. Are you planning on following up with Status Alliance?  Tony mentioned you and Irshad hit it off in D.C., and I always thought she was more involved with the Horseshoe Society."

"Ishrad got me through that dinner," Steve breathed. "She was a godsend. Really. And Danielle seems...cool. Her and Banksy are good friends I think. Hopefully I'll see him around too."  He looked up at her curiously. "So did you...ever give Danielle a call?"

Pepper smiled.  "Yes, actually. I thought she might want to talk about, I don't know... the charity, your involved in Status Alliance.  We went to dinner but it turns out her interest in me was of a personal nature, and... well. She got the wrong idea." She laughed lightly.  "My first date in three years and it's a woman. God, it was so awkward, I felt terrible. Well, we still had a nice time, we got a few drinks and went dancing anyway.  It was fun. ...don't tell Tony or I'll never hear the end of it."

There was a small rustle from Phil's nest.  "Ice," he said suddenly.

Pepper rose to get it.  She set it by the entrance of the nest and Phil's hand snaked out to retrieve it.  Steve looked over the elaborate den with undisguised interest; it honestly looked quite cool but Steve didn't dare take a look inside of it until their heats were over. He didn't want Phil to think he was intruding, or anything.

"It's a shame I can't join Status Alliance, I think some of their work is really fascinating.  The year before you were frozen there was a huge rally in Washington, Phil, do you remember?"

"I remember being stuck in traffic for two hours because of it," said Phil grumpily.  He seemed even more humorless and passive-aggressive during heat. He turned up the music slightly, as if telling them to shut up.

Pepper ignored him.  Steve looked confused, so she added, by way of explanation, "Status Alliance doesn't allow Alphas or betas to join.  It's omegas only."

"Only omegas..." Steve repeated. It was stupid but he hadn't realized. He thought the reason they were all Os was because they were the most interested in omega rights issues, not because it was...exclusive. Steve was all for creating safe spaces for heats and stuff but he didn't know how he felt about that. Kinda seemed like they were shooting themselves in the foot before they were even getting started.

Before Steve could comment further, there was a crash and Tony bounded down the stairs in a panic, knocking over several orchids, naked.

" _Steve!_  Oh, God, I woke up and you were gone, I-- _don't ever do that to me again_ , I thought-- Christ...."  Tony grabbed the edge of a table to stabilize himself, reaching up to press a hand to his arc reactor, panting.

Pepper stared at him, unperturbed, like he tore down the stairs naked every day.

When Tony had woken to find the bed empty, every protective instinct in his body had kicked in and he'd assumed the worst.  Steve was dead, or kidnapped, being tortured and raped by HYDRA, had been stolen away by Bucky... Tony was shaking with panic even though it had only taken him a minute to tear out of bed and downstairs.  His hackles had risen and adrenaline was pumping; the brief moment of separation from his mate, not knowing where Steve was, had evoked a primal response and he was struggling to calm down.

Phil poked his head out of his nest to eyeball Tony with interest.

Tony wheezed softly, still clutching his chest.

"Jesus Tony. I was just getting coffee," Steve breathed and wrapped an arm around him, his fingers running up and down Tony's arm in a comforting motion. He let him lean into him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Sorry. I won't do it again." He knew Tony was clingy but he thought that he could have managed a journey downstairs before getting into a panic. Clearly heats were very different experiences depending on what side you experienced them from.

"Pants," suggested Pepper.

"Or not, it's your house," said Phil agreeably.

" _Pants_ ," insisted Pepper firmly.

"What, you never saw a dick before?" asked Tony.  He looked over at Phil's nest. "Jesus, Coulson, did you tear up my entire fucking house?"  Phil looked pained. "Nice nest," he added, realizing that, to an omega, such an enterprise was on par with a maestro's opera.  Phil beamed at the compliment, his eyes still flitting from Steve to Tony. Clearly he was in a personal heaven: a barely-clothed Captain America and a completely naked Alpha.

It was his gaze, more than Pepper's scolding, that made Tony go grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

He settled down with them, pressing up to Steve, cuddling him unabashedly.  He wasn't normally one for displays of affection but Steve's heat had turned him into an emotional mess.  "I'm so glad you're okay," he mumbled into Steve's collarbone, still worked up from the brief moment of not knowing Steve's whereabouts.

Steve popped a grape into Tony's mouth. "Food. You need food. I'm okay, trust me. I'm more worried about you right now. Did you even stop to take a breath on your way down here?" Steve sighed fondly. "Remember. Pepper and Phil are here too. We're fine." Sitwell was probably...somewhere, holed away with paperwork but he wasn't really concerned with him. He barely knew the man. Steve hadn't ever had a proper conversation with him.

He pushed his coffee over to Tony for him to have. After all, Steve couldn't get the caffeine rush. He just drank it for the taste, mostly.

He glanced over at Pepper. "So...do they let like, betas and Alphas go to the rallies?" he asked curiously.

"Ah," demanded Tony, opening his mouth for another grape.

"Well... they don't exactly _bar_ Alphas or betas from the rallies, but... all the meetings and everything are omega-only," explained Pepper.  "Status Alliance formed in the eighties and they were one of the major lobbies behind getting arranged bonding outlawed.  They consider the Horseshoe Society to be too moderate... HS has been around since the fifties so I guess from their perspective, things have gotten a lot better, but the Alliance is mostly younger members and they're a lot more uncompromising."

"Ah," repeated Tony, mouth open.

Phil poked his nose out from his nest.  "Well, Banksy is a member, and you know he was force-bonded."

"Arranged," said Tony.

"Forced, arranged, what's the difference?"

Tony remembered, with a pit in his stomach, how Boswell had described it. _He cried through the entire ceremony._  He shuddered a little.

"Plus one of the guys on the board was sent to a conversion camp as a kid that messed him up real bad.  I think they're got every right to be a bit more militant," said Phil petulantly. "Anyways, the Horseshoe Society is pretty much run by just the one councilman, Jeffrey Walker, and he hasn't been very active lately."

"I had no idea you were so involved in omega rights, Phil," said Pepper.

Phil snorted.  "Oh, _please_.  I was born in '64 in Manitowoc.  I had an arranged bonding too and if SHIELD hadn't picked me up, I would still be in Wisconsin, barefoot and pregnant in Frank Sykes's kitchen."

Everyone must have looked shocked.

"...what happened?" asked Pepper quietly.

"I took Lola and I got the hell out of there."

"Who's Lola, another omega?"

"No, she was the '62 'Vette me and my dad used to work on.  I was nine when he passed and my mother was beside herself. She betrothed me to a guy named Frank, but you couldn't go through with the bonding ceremony until you were seventeen.  Day before my birthday, I took Lola and never looked back. Still have her."

"The '62 was a hell of a car," said Tony, apparently missing the rest of the story.

"Phil, I'm so sorry," said Pepper quietly.

"Don't be.  I ended up in a good place," said Phil.  He shoved an empty ice cup out of the nest insistently, and Pepper got up to refill it for him.

Steve kept popping grapes between Tony's lips before he finally reached for an apple and a knife and started to slice that too.

"My ma got lots of offers. People target single mothers; they know how desperate their situations can be," Steve shrugged. "And if a mother is struggling to provide for her kid, why wouldn't she want him to get an Alpha, you know? In theory, it should be better."

"But your mom didn't want you to have an arranged bonding?" Pepper asked, straightening up after leaving ice outside of the den again.

"Well I was too sick for that. I think I would have been sold with the intention of lasting one night," Steve breathed and began and to feed Tony's small pieces of apple along with grapes.

"Jesus," Pepper muttered and went back to her seat, cradling her coffee in her hands. Steve knew it was a skinny cinnamon latte (he was a good PA, still.)

Steve's phone pinged across the table and he dragged it over. "Oh. Aria's got the response from the show, if you want it."

Tony seemed more interested in apple. Steve gave him more apple.

Pepper grabbed a tablet and opened up her own emails. "It's...good! No one seems to have noticed that you were going into a preheat by the end of it. Small mercies at least."

Tony felt a low growl rising in his throat at the idea of anyone _using_ Steve.

But the conversation had already turned to the show.

Pepper was reading a review aloud: "... _Captain Rogers and his Alpha--_ that's nice, they're not calling Steve Tony's omega-- _both looked surprisingly healthy and energetic, considering the rumors surrounding Stark's reclusivity..._ oh, this is great... _there was no doubt that, arranged or not, their bond is very much real, their connection to each other as palpable as Boswell's and Banksy's_ ... fantastic... _Rogers's charity has drummed up considerable enthusiasm..._ even better!"  She scrolled through the reviews, nodding approvingly, then looked up at Steve.

"I still don't get the arranged rumours," Steve sighed. "Who the hell do they think arranged it?"

"Since you appeared on air with Danielle McDavid, there's a lot of speculation that you're aligning yourself with Status Alliance.  You should probably publicly state that you're not affiliated with either them or the Horseshoe Society at this time."

Tony had crawled into Steve's lap and wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and was nosing around his jaw, nipping and murmuring little love phrases to him, his heat irresistible.  Having been sated with the fruit, he was now entirely focused on Steve again.

Embarrassed, Pepper looked over toward Phil's elaborate nest.  His face was poking out the entrance and he was watching Tony with undisguised interest and hunger.

"Maybe you two should go back upstair--" began Pepper, but at that moment, Sitwell walked in, tapping away at a tablet.

He looked at Phil and at Tony and Steve with a look of mild disgust.  "Hill wanted a status update. Looks like everything's... nominal. The WSC is involved, now, too.  They're not thrilled with the Captain having such an... exploitable..." He trailed off, not knowing the word to use.  Instead, he settled down into an armchair. "They're interested in investigating if there was any possible trigger that made the captain more vulnerable, anything you can remember that might have... aided the mental breach.  ...excuse me, can you stop?" he asked, the last question directed at Tony, who was running his hands over Steve's chest and stomach with glee.

Steve blushed as Tony murmured sweet nothings him. A lot of it being things Steve wouldn't dare repeat out loud. He cleared his throat.

 _"Tony_." Steve caught his Alpha's wrists in a gentle grip. "Let the boring man speak and then we can go back upstairs." Tony seemed to be enjoying Steve holding his wrists together far too much; Tony grinned at him, manically.  Steve's touch was hot and firm, a wave of heat went through his groin and his cock twitched in his shorts.  Steve's blush only worsened and he cleared his throat again before glancing over to Sitwell, who did _not_ look impressed with him in the slightest.

"There wasn't a trigger. I was just sleeping."

"Were you dreaming, maybe?" Pepper prompted and Sitwell looked at her like she was a genius.

"You've had dreams about him before, no? Like you said. You saw him outside the house. Are you sure you didn't dream again?" Sitwell pressed and Steve paused in thought. He thought hard and long, racking his brain. But there was nothing. No dream that he could remember.

Steve shrugged. "Sorry."

"We should get you back in on the simulator," Sitwell mused, half to himself. "It might help us...work things out."

"I only started having problems with Bucky since I went in the simulator," Steve breathed. "I really don't think that's a good idea. I was awake for months and nothing. I saw him in the simulation with a metal arm I couldn't have possibly known about. I mean- if you want proof that the simulation is bad for me then that's it. I'm not going back in that thing. No way." Before Sitwell could get a word in edge-ways Steve had convinced himself of his opinion.

"That simulator's been approved by the highest authorities," said Sitwell defensively.  "Councilman Pierce--"

"No.  Now. if you don't have anything else ground-breaking to say, we should probably head back upstairs."

Sitwell frowned at Steve's refusal, but still looked like he was mulling over the idea of the simulator unlocking or opening up bonds.  Making minds more accessible.

Tony squirmed a little against Steve's grip, liking Steve's suggestion of the two of them heading back upstairs.  Steve's hands were still clutching his wrists.

And then, suddenly, a memory.

Hands on his wrists.  Dirty fingernails digging into the skin leaving little half-moon imprints.  _"You pathetic little spade. If you won't build my missile, then this is all you're good for."_

Tony let out an unearthly shriek and snapped.  This wasn't a playful nip; this was a lunging bite, fast and feral.

Sitwell, Pepper, and Phil all let out a noise of surprise; Steve's head had turned reflexively, shielding his face, and Tony's teeth had sunk just below his ear, around his jawbone.  A tug, a slash, and suddenly Steve was bleeding profusely.

"Oh my God!" screeched Sitwell, jumping to his feet.

"Tony!" cried Pepper, jumping up and rushing to him.  She knew, immediately, what had happened. Tony's eyes had that unfocused look they got when he went into a panic attack.

Only Phil remained where he was, a look of alarm on his face, but his heat preventing him from leaving his nest.

Steve pulled a face of confusion and just sat there dumbly before he realized he could feel something warm and wet on his neck. He lifted a hand up and it came back red. Huh. His brow furrowed. Had Tony really done that?

Pepper and Sitwell were muttering about a first aid kit and and the latter disappeared with it before he returned, dropping it onto the counter by Steve before Sitwell promptly grabbed some kitchen towel and pressed it against the wound.

"Do you think we should call an ambulance?" Sitwell asked.

"Super healing, remember?" Steve pointed out and watched Tony worriedly from afar.

"You only have so much blood in your body, captain."

"I think it's shallow.  It's fine," insisted Steve, a little dazed.

Sitwell moved to get out gauze tape and bandages, which he wrapped around after sealing the wound with a decent-sized plaster. The bandages were wrapped around his neck and felt like some kind of quasi-collar. Steve didn't like it. He wanted to tug at them but Sitwell's serious expression stopped him from doing so. The man's fingers were red with his blood.

"Was that..." Sitwell's eyes narrowed at Tony. "Is that _him_?"

"Don't be ridiculous.  It's not the Winter Soldier, it's just Tony.  Tony doesn't like people touching his hands or wrists," said Pepper dismissively to Sitwell.

Sitwell almost looked disappointed.

Pepper crouched on the floor by Tony, who had balled himself up against the side of one of the couches and was breathing heavily.  Her hands were out and open in submission. "Tony... Tony, it's me... you're home. Tony."

Tony growled in response, baring his teeth, hair up and muscles tensed.

Pepper shot an annoyed look at Steve.  "After all this time you ought to know he hates having his wrists touched," she admonished him.

Steve frowned at being told off. "I'm sorry I'm not really at my best right now." Logically, yes. He did know that.  But right now he was in heat and couldn't make the make mental jump between stopping Tony  from being too hands on, and not touching his hands. The first option had been the priority.  Besides, Tony hadn't reacted, initially.

Sitwell cast a longing look over at his notebook, clearly wanting to record this information, but he was still patting the bandage on Steve's neck into place.

"They hold hands all the time," said Phil reasonably.  "His neuroses aren't really well-defined. Steve couldn't have known.  Excuse me." He ducked back into the recesses of his den and a moment later Steve heard a groan of pain, another heat spasm.

Pepper scowled the nest before turning back to Tony.  "Tony. Speak to me."

"No.  I can't.  I can't breathe.  I'm dying," reported Tony in a rush.  "I think I'm dying. It's my heart. Get Yinsen.  I'm definitely dying."

"You're having a panic attack.  You're not dying," said Pepper soothingly.

"Who's Yin--" began Sitwell.

"I'm definitely dying," insisted Tony.  "I can't breathe. This is it. I'm dying.  I need an old priest and a young priest."

"Well, he's definitely feeling better, if he's making pop culture references," said Pepper.  She glanced up at Steve, and added, for his benefit, "The priest thing, that's from a movie called _The Exorcist_."

"I need my omega," said Tony suddenly.

Pepper actually looked hurt and it occurred to Steve that, for years, she had been Tony's sole confidante.  And now she wasn't. Steve's jealousy of her was clearly not one-sided.

She moved back and gestured for Steve.

Tony was already moving; he slithered over to Steve and in an instant was in his lap, pressing into him, clinging to him.  Steve could feel his body trembling. Tony huffed against Steve. A confusion of terror and arousal coursed through him. Once again, he was forced to conclude that heats were not nearly as fun as he had previously thought.

"Hey," Steve's voice was soft and his touch magnetic as he curled Tony up in his arms. "Sitwell, can you piss off this? Please?"

Sitwell let out an annoyed huff but complied as Steve began running his fingers through Tony's hair in a soothing manner, fingernails scratching across his scalp lightly. Tony's body trembled against his and made Steve's heart ache. He loved him. He understood him.

He still remembered the simulation...finding Tony in the cave and him thinking he was an angel.

"I'm here with you. I'm always here. It's okay. He's gone and you're still here. He's gone."

Steve let Tony tuck his face against the crook of his neck, the position automatic as he ran his fingers through his hair still. They'd done this many times over the past seven months. Sometimes there wasn't a trigger, or at least not one Tony would admit to.

"Does he want some of my...ice?" Phil said, trying to offer help.

Tony nuzzled into Steve's neck with a quiet whining noise; his hand dipped into Steve's shorts.

Pepper's eyes widened; she rose hurriedly, grabbed Sitwell's arm, and tugged.

Tony's body was still shaking, sweating; he felt sick with fear and his breathing was still ragged, but the smell and taste of Steve was overwhelming and the compulsion to mate him overwhelming.

"Steve," he mewled.

"Please put down a towel," said Pepper hastily as they ducked out of the room.

"We're supposed to keep a watch on them," protested Sitwell.

"Phil's in there," said Pepper, shoving him out of the room.  (Phil was in his nest; Steve could just barely make out suppressed groans of pain.)

Tony mouthed Steve's neck, teeth grazing the skin.  "Off," he commanded, yanking at Steve's clothes. His heart was still throbbing and he felt a sort of... desperation.  There was no passion or love here. Just a primal urge that he couldn't get under control, mixed with an urgency that came from fear, because his throat was still swollen with terror and his gut still twisted, but Steve's scent was hypnotic.  And it didn't help that he could smell Phil, too. Both omegas were wet and Tony was partially hard, grinding against Steve even as he clung to him.

"This isn't fun," he managed to mumble.  "I hate this, this isn't fun, I don't want to do heats anymore..."  He sucked at the skin on Steve's throat, whimpering, the hand in Steve's pants running over his wet, inviting hole.

"Tony! Fuck-" Steve went to move Tony's hand away from him but found he couldn't. He squirmed as he felt fingers rubbing over slippery thighs and swore under his breath.

He shivered as Tony's teeth dragged over his pulse point and whimpered at the command, his eyes fluttering shut. He wasn't even aware of Phil anymore until he hears a groan of pain. "Tony...Tony...not in here. No. Not with- It'll be over soon. I promise. It'll be okay," Steve whispered, nuzzling against his cheek. "I promise Tony, please just..."

He ran his hands down Tony's chest and braced them there. Not letting him press close enough to get between his legs. Steve was heady with hormones but he was conscious enough not to want to do this in front of Phil.

Tony whined insistently.

"I'm not leaving my nest," called Phil petulantly.

Tony cast a desperate glance over his shoulder at the nest, deliberating which was the fastest way to get to Steve.

He stood up and grabbed Steve, for a split second almost picking him up.  His bad shoulder, the right one, made a crack of protest. He winced, flexed it (another pop-crack), and grinned sheepishly down at Steve.  "Right. You're huge. ...c'mon. Kitchen."

He almost managed not to sound impatient.  No time to go up to the lounge. His fear had made him restless.  Besides, Pepper and Sitwell had gone in the direction of the stairs.  No guarantee of privacy, which was apparently important to Steve. (Tony had already been seen naked by Pepper dozens of times.  He had zero shame at this point; frankly he would love to show off that he was fucking Captain America.)

Kitchen seemed to be the closest semi-private option short of removing Phil, who was clearly one of those nesters who got territorial.  Anyway, that was fine, Tony liked the idea of fucking Steve over the countertop. Mostly he just wanted to get it done with. Steve's heat had reduced sex to a chore, an exercise.  There was little foreplay or affection, something Tony had grown used to over the last seven months.

"Rogers.  Don't forget your pills," groaned Phil from inside his little sanctuary.  Tony could tell his teeth were clenched against the pain. How the hell did omegas do this every six months, he wondered.  Even if it only lasted a few days, it was still awful.

Suddenly Phil stuck his head out, phone in hand, a tired smile on his face.  "When you're done, Rogers, send a tweet to Jeffrey Walker. He just had twin girls."

"Thanks Phil!" Steve called back, though his mind was on other things as Tony's hands pulled him through into the kitchen. Phil had turned the music up to max and the floor was nearly vibrating. Steve couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to hear other people at it on his heat either. He went to shut the door and then dumbly realized that the kitchen didn't have one, just an artsy archway that curved into a pretty pattern at the top.

"Tony. Tony one sec..." he placed a hand on the other's shoulder, not letting him pounce just yet as he went to get water. Steve downed it with his pills one at a time, leaning into Tony's touch by the time he was done. His body was chilly to the touch from sweat and need and he wouldn't stop trembling. Steve hated feeling this useless.

Omegas in heat weren't necessarily so, however. They were many cases of omegas going into beserker-like rages during their heats (another thing that Alphas used to stress their inferiority.) Sometimes the rages were triggered in defense of children or a mate themselves. It was a rare instance, but a consistent and well-documented one. Steve knew that some armies even looked into triggered omega rages as a form of warfare but he didn't think anything ever came of it.

Steve set down his empty glass and then turned into Tony's touch, head tilting into a ferocious kiss as his hands thread into his Alpha's hair.

Tony could barely keep his hands off Steve while he took his pills.  Steve's whole body was clammy and shivering.

He pushed Steve into the counter and their mouths collided; Tony licked into it, tilting Steve's head down and to the side so he could reach him.  His lips were soft and pliable; their mouths worked together furiously, and Tony wasted no time in reaching down to yank Steve's shorts down.

In the other room, Bruce Springsteen was playing, and Tony had a brief motion of appreciation.  Clearly, with the Corvette and his taste in music, Coulson was much less lame that Tony had initially thought.

He pulled out of the kiss, breathless, and flipped Steve around.  Steve was utterly compliant, putty in his hands. He bend him over the countertop, pressing his chest down into Steve's back, sliding his hands up Steve's arms to find his wrists and pin him.  He bit the back of Steve's neck tenderly; his teeth fit into the scar there so perfectly. He noticed the bandage around Steve's neck but barely even remembered biting him earlier. He sort of liked the bandage, actually.  If you squinted right, it looked almost like a collar.

With that thought, he pushed himself into Steve.  Steve was wet, so wet he was practically dripping, his body desperate to be mated.  There was the usual resistance at the knot; Tony growled and pushed himself into Steve insistently, shuddering when he felt Steve's entrance give and swallow his length.  He closed his eyes, purring and growling nonsense sounds into Steve's neck, noises of affection, his hips rocking into Steve, Steve's wrists warm in his hands.

It felt so good. So fucking _good_. Steve was squirming and wriggling beneath him just right, clenching around Tony's member as he let out the sweetest and most desperate sounds. His cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and his eyes glazed over with elation, from both the heat and Tony's presence. Steve trembled under ever thrust and arced his back up into it, moaning every time Tony hit that sweet spot inside of him just right.

In reality Steve could have easily pulled his hands out of Tony's grasp but his mind would never permit such an action in this state. Where ever Tony put him, he would stay. Steve whimpered when Tony finally came inside of him and then continued to fuck into him, Steve having already come undone, untouched, all over the countertop.

Tony didn't stop even after he came, still enjoying the sensation, still wanting more, Steve's pheromones hijacking his body.  Anyways, he might as well keep going; they were knotted, Steve's body hot and tight around him. He wasn't going anywhere for at least thirty--

He heard something.  He looked over; Aria had apparently come in, but stopped dead in the doorway when she realized what they were doing.  A hand flew up to shield her eyes. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Tony tried to reply, forgetting his mouth was full, so instead he made a muffled sound of dismissal.  He pulled off Steve quickly, forgetting they were knotted, yanking Steve with him painfully, and a second later the two of them had crashed to the ground.

 _"Fuck this!  Fuck heats!"_ exclaimed Tony from the floor, feeling furious about the entire circumstance and also in a fair amount of pain.  " _Fuck Gleason, fuck SHIELD, why can't they make you some goddamn suppressants that work, motherfucker, my dick, FUCK_!"

"I'm so sorry, I thought you two were upstairs, that's what Pepper said when I texted her this morning," Aria was babbling, hand still shielding her eyes.

Steve didn't really understand what was happening. All he knew was that he was on the ground and his ass felt like it was on fire and Tony was swearing loudly in his ears. Steve flinched and then slowly began to make out a familiar voice.

"Aria!" He just managed to grit out. "Get the fuck out of here!  _Please_."

"Yep. Yep. I'm going..." Aria made for the stairs and took them two at a time, eyes widening when she saw the den in the living room. Jesus Christ. She did not understand heats.

"Oh my God." Aria leaned heavily against a wall to see Pepper and Sitwell watching her with concern. "They were doing it in the kitchen! I'm scarred for life. Heats are crazy."

"They do it in the kitchen anyway," Pepper grumbled fondly into her newly acquired cup of tea.

Downstairs, Steve groaned and leaned his forehead against the floor. "It kills," he whispered.

"Steve, I'm so sorry," gasped Tony.  "I panicked, I shouldn't have yanked, fuck--"  His eyes were actually watering. He was worried he might vomit.  He concentrated on not doing that, since he was pretty sure puking down your mate's back wasn't on the list of things you're supposed to do during heats.

The tile on the floor felt good.  Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's broad chest and closed his eyes, pressing his cheek onto the cool floor, his breathing ragged.  The panic attack, the fucking, having Aria walk in on them... he was feeling thoroughly worn out, emotionally speaking. And physically, he was definitely hurting.

He should probably having a drink, some water or-- he realized it had been at least a day since his last drink, no, two days; his last drink had been the scotch he'd shared with Boswell.  Then, yesterday, they'd been fucking non-stop, and today, well... more fucking. Thirty-six hours. No wonder he was anxious. He was trembling and he knew, in part, that was withdrawal setting in.  His blood sugar was probably low, too. The only food he'd had was the fruit Steve had fed him earlier.

"Steve.  Since your publicist just walked in on us, can I have Pepper come in to get me a drink?  Even things out?" asked Tony hopefully.

Upstairs, Pepper was sipping her tea contentedly.

"Heats are no more crazy than menstrual cycles, vaginal birth, or menopause," she pointed out.

Sitwell cringed noticeably.  "Not much fazes you, does it?" he said to Pepper, sounding slightly annoyed at her unflappability.

Inside his den, Phil was blasting _I Can't Get No Satisfaction_ by the Rolling Stones, which, Pepper suspected, was a conscious expression of frustration.

"After the fifth or sixth time you catch Tony choking himself with a belt and masturbating, you stop really noticing," said Pepper breezily.

"He does that?" asked Aria with alarm.

"Hm?  Oh, yes.  Although since Steve, he really seems to have mellowed out.  I'm happy for them. I really do hope it works out... I never thought Tony could be this _domestic_."

Sitwell stared at her like she'd grown a second head.  " _This_ is _domestic_?"

"For Tony," amended Pepper with a little smile.

"And Steve is still a soldier," Aria pointed out. Sitwell hummed noncommittally in agreement. "I'm sorry...who are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at Sitwell of a sudden. She was in a blue leather jacket today with a high collar that made her look rather menacing as she stared him down.

"My name is Sitwell. I'm from SHIELD."

"And why are you here?"

"That's...classified."

"Right. _Okay_... whatever. Steve will just tell me later." Aria moved to drop down on the sofa and pull out her phone, scrolling through emails. The silence was almost awkward until JARVIS interrupted it.

"Miss Potts, Mr. Stark would like a beverage in the kitchen but Captain Rogers would also appreciate it if you could avert your gaze away from their... predicament." The AI almost managed to sound amused.

"He doesn't pay you enough," Aria told Pepper and she sighed as she stood.

"I know," Pepper said and set down her tea. The tension in the room wasn't as bad as when they'd headed upstairs, Tony having just bitten Steve's neck and then panicking. Of course, Tony was still panicking, but Steve wasn't nearly bleeding so much and and at least no one was hyperventilating (as far as Pepper could hear).

She walked through the living room, Phil not even hearing her come by because the music was so loud, and stepped into the kitchen a little hesitantly. Pepper glanced down quickly to see them tangled together on the floor and quickly shot her gaze up to the ceiling. She knew the kitchen well enough to feel her way around it. "I'm not looking," she assured them (well, Steve). "Tony, what do you want?"

Tony heard Pepper before he saw her.  Not her usual business-style click of stilettos, but the tread of her tennis shoes.  Tony turned as much as he could without hurting Steve to see a pair of yoga pants. He looked up.  Pepper was looking away.

"He needs food," Steve answered before Tony could.

"I need a _drink_ ," Tony corrected Steve.  "Whiskey, single-malt."

"How about water?"

"Golly, why not throw in a slice of white bread for dipping," said Tony sarcastically.  " _Whiskey_ , Pepper."

"I'll get you two fingers if you drink a glass of water and eat something."

"Six fingers, glass of water, and I will _consider_ eating something."

"You're not really in a position to negotiate," said Pepper, crossing her arms.  "Steve, do you want anything? You should be eating, too. I'm going to make Phil a sandwich while I'm in here."  She stepped over them and opened the fridge.

"Seven fingers, glass of water, and half of Coulson's sandwich," said Tony.

"I'm pretty sure seven fingers is just an entire tumbler."

"Great.  Bring me that, then," demanded Tony, pressing his face back into the back of Steve's neck.  Faintly, he could smell blood. He nuzzled the bonding mark and gave it a tender lick of apology, even though he knew he wasn't entirely to blame.  Steve had seen him go into a panic more than a few times. And Steve seemed to understand. Steve had his own demons to fight; he had lost it during the opening sequence of _Saving Private Ryan_ and they'd given up on watching it, because it hit too close to home for him.

"Are you two staying here?  Do you need some pillows or a blanket?"

"Whatever the omega wants," said Tony wearily.  Steve's body was providing more than enough heat for him and frankly the only thing he was currently interested in was sex and alcohol.

 _Just like old times,_ he thought sardonically.

" _Two_ fingers," Steve mumbled in agreement against the floor, his eyes half open. "Your stomach is empty right now, Tony.  A sandwich with...something would be great," he hummed. Pepper began taking cheese and ham and pickle out of the fridge, making sandwiches for each of them. She placed a banana and apple on Tony and Steve's plate too, and grabbed Phil the bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl.

She managed to set the plates down beside them with glasses of water without really looking. Pepper then went to take Phil his plate of food, leaving it by the edge of the tent. "Phil?" She called over the music. "I've made you food."

Slowly, cautiously, a hand snuck out and stole the plate. There was a moment of hesitation before a "thanks" was mumbled.

"How are you doing?" Pepper asked softly.

"Had worse," Phil said, mouth full of sandwich. "I think it should be dying down by the morning."

That was a relief. Hopefully that meant it would be the same for Steve too. Pepper grabbed a blanket off of the side of the den and a pillow from the floor before heading back into the kitchen. She dropped the blanket over both Steve and Tony and then offered the pillow now that she could look down without offending Steve's decency.

"Thank you Pepper," Steve breathed gratefully as he slipped the pillow between his forehead and the floor.

Pepper sighed as she stared down at Tony's plate. "Finish your sandwich. Then whiskey."

Tony stared at the plate of food with a look of disgust.  He wasn't hungry. Or rather, he was, but not for food. He picked listlessly at the sandwich without actually eating any of it, sipped the water, and went back to nosing Steve's neck, taking comfort in his smell.

He shivered at the drape of the blanket over them.  He looked up at Pepper and smiled.

"Don't want the sandwich.  Sorry Pep. Whiskey now?"

"No.  You need to eat something."

"I _can't_ , I can't eat until I've had a drink, I feel _sick_ ," protested Tony.  "Besides, I ate earlier."

"What, six grapes and a quarter of an apple?  _Eat_."

"Steve," whispered Tony into the blond's ear.  "Make her get me whiskey. Please. I really need it."

"You feel sick because you're an alcoholic," said Pepper, crossing her arms.

"Steve, use your Captain America charm... use your omega wiles," whispered Tony.  He wiggled his hips a little in encouragement. The encouragement was for Steve, but his body responded immediately; he was hard again.  He groaned and began thrusting slowly into Steve, still feeling nauseous.

"Tony, you should eat- _fuck_ ," Steve pressed his forehead back against the floor. He was gone, lost in the rocks of Tony's hips. His breath hitched as his alpha slid in deeper with each one and teased him with languorous thrusts. Pepper had muttered something under her breath and left, not wanting to see the show.

"Steve! Get him to eat something!" She called out as she headed upstairs but Steve was too distracted by Tony to reply with anything but a moan. He trembled against his mate and whined, low in his throat, arcing his head back into Tony's touch.

In the living room, Phil pushed his half-eaten sandwich out of his nest, feeling sick himself.  Not uncommon during heats. His phone pinged and he checked it. A text from Fury; the World Security Council was _not_ happy with having Steve compromised.  Worse, they were now worried about the possibility of other bonded omegas being compromised.  Notably... Clint.

Phil sighed, weakly texting back.

Upstairs, Sitwell and Area were staring at each other.  "So... you're his publicist, is that right?" asked Sitwell, tenting his fingers.  "All about his... image. So the question everyone's asking is whether he's going to team up with Status Alliance or the Horseshoe Society.  What'd you think?"

Aria had already gotten several offers.  Banksy had, true to his word, put her in contact with the four omegas who ran SA.  Danielle McDavid an Remi St. Laurent were in Montreal at some summit or conference, but the other two, Tiberius Stone and Wendy Germaine, had both sent her schedules and offered to go out to dinner with Steve to talk business.  With Tony and Steve's one-year anniversary coming up in less than half a year, she and Pepper had both been working on setting up the charity dinner and auction Tony had suggested months ago. (Pepper, for one, was sick of all the damn orchids filling the house.)

Aria's eyes narrowed at Sitwell again. She didn't like him instinctively. There was never anything good about a mysterious man in a suit. "I think that Steve doesn't need another society to prop him up and that there's enough infighting between them for it to be better for Steve to just stay out of it. Sure, he can work with both of them but he's not picking a side. That's not really his style. If he can unite them together he'll get a hell of a lot more done. But it's Steve's call, not mine, so..."

Sitwell nodded in agreement. He looked around the room and stared at the ruined sofa. He sighed. "How the hell can we protect him in this state..."

"You mean from the people who tried to take him before?"

"It's not just them I'm worried-"

Pepper appeared at the top of the stairs. "Spare sandwiches, if anyone wants some," she said and set them down before sinking into the sofa with a sigh.

"SHIELD's main concern is the contraception not working," Sitwell said. "It would make for an...awkward situation."

"Well, it's up to Steve. Not SHIELD, so..." Aria shrugged, beginning to get annoyed with him.

Sitwell smiled suddenly and shook his head, amused.  "There's a bit of irony in it, isn't there? HYDRA wants him to breed, SHIELD doesn't... and here's you, his little beta friend, saying it's _his_ choice.  How much choice do any of them have, really?  Look at him and Stark, rutting on the floor like a pair of dogs.  Look at Coulson. I like Coulson, I do. But in heat he's... not himself.  They never are."

Pepper reached over and put a firm hand on Aria's knee.  She didn't like Sitwell either, but she didn't want Aria to explode.  Part of what they were here for was damage control.

Aria was positively fuming, her hands curled up tightly in her lap. Whilst she was a beta, she understood in her own way. She'd been adopted by two omega women when she was just a toddler. She'd gotten a lot of shit for having two omega mothers at school and her parents had suffered even worse at work.

"Steve has a choice in everything he does and he makes it every time. He only stays with SHIELD because he _wants to_ , agent, so you better be kind to him," Aria said, her voice trembling a little. She shot Pepper a grateful look.

"Jasper.  If you could close your _mouth_ instead of your _mind,_ that would be fantastic," said Pepper politely, somehow managing to inject just the right amount of venom into her voice.

Fortunately the discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Agent Mackenzie.  He was tall, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered. "Who's lovin' it?" he asked, holding up a couple of large McDonald's bags.  "I got everyone breakfast... figured we'd need the caffeine... how are the love birds?" He surveyed the room. "Uh-oh. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Pepper sharply.  "...Aria, don't you have to go congratulate Jeff on Steve's behalf?"  She turned to Mackenzie. "The head of the Horseshoe Society just had twin beta girls."

"Aw, good for him," said Mackenzie, pulling a breakfast sandwich out of the bag and beginning to unwrap it.

"Oh my God. Burgers. Yes please." Aria was starving and exhausted and grabbed one out of the bag, taking Pepper's hint before she stood with her newly acquired food and headed out onto the balcony. She took out a cigarette and lit it up as she stared out over the gardens out back. They were quite lovely. Steve could write his own tweets.

Pepper watched Mackenzie devour the sandwich in no less than three bites. The edge of her mouth twitched. "I'm sorry, why are you here?"

"...I'm with SHIELD," he explained.  "We're supposed to have surveillance on the two of them at all times, until we can determine the level at which Rogers has been compromised.  Of course, I said to Fury, I don't plan on surveying the guy while he's with his mate. But I gotta be here, protect the perimeter, stay within hollering distance."  He shrugged a little, almost apologetically.

"Coulson's here too," reported Sitwell.

"Oh, good.  Where at?"

"In a teepee in the living room," said Sitwell derisively.  "He and Rogers cycle together."

"Woo, boy," said Mackenzie, pulling out a hashbrown.  "That guy's the worst nester I ever saw. One time--" He turned to Pepper.  "--one time he set up in the middle of SHIELD HQ's lobby, just a big pile of folders and papers and stuff... it was something else.  I'm talking about two or three feet deep, a sort of... well, a nest, literally, nest of all these dossiers and reports, I thought the archivists were going to lose their minds."  He turned back to Sitwell. "That was before your time, I think."

Sitwell looked unamused at the story.  "Hm," he muttered, eyes roaming over the house and the hundreds of orchids.  "So Stark doesn't like having his wrists touched?" he asked suddenly.

Pepper frowned.  "Well, who does?" she replied tactfully.

"Coffee?" offered Mackenzie.

"No, thank you."  She watched as he pried the lid of a Styrofoam cup and stirred in some creamer.  She liked him quite a bit better that Jasper Sitwell, that was for sure. "After Steve's heat, is the surveillance team going to be lifted?"

"Probably not," said Mackenzie.  "They want to be sure there's zero chance of any espionage.  So I guess we're going to be spending Christmas and New Year's together.  Which is great, I always wanted to go to a Stark New Year's party!"

Sitwell slumped into the couch with a scowl.

There was a loud crash downstairs several minutes later. The two agents looked alarmed but Pepper didn't. She held up a hand to them when they tried to stand. "It's fine."

Mackenzie blinked. "Didn't sound fine."

"They've broken the countertop before. That's nothing new," Pepper breathed and reached down to pick at some cheesy bites that Mackenzie had picked up. She wasn't normally one for this kind of fast food but after the night and morning she'd had she felt she'd earned it. She chewed on a cheesy bite slowly.

"Jesus," Mackenzie muttered and shook his head to himself as he curled his hands around his coffee. He chuckled gently. "That doesn't even surprise me."

Sitwell looked suitably grossed out.

"You think y _ou're_ having a bad time?" Mackenzie seemed amused by him. "Would you like your first heat getting invaded like this?"

"If I was Steve Rogers I wouldn't have mated in the first place," Sitwell said, clearing his throat.

"I don't think they had much of a choice.  Scent-mates," said Pepper.

In the kitchen, they'd managed to claw their way upright again.

"Omega... omega... _omega_!" gasped Tony, pumping himself into Steve. Steve cracked off part of the countertop and it smashed to the floor (hundreds of thousands of dollars, right there); Steve clawed for new purchase and sent a couple of orchids, a bowl of fruit, a stack of mail, and a couple of glasses to the floor.  Neither one noticed the mess; they were sweating and panting and pounding against and into each other, blissfully unaware of the destruction they were causing. Tony had practically scaled onto Steve, and Steve had crawled on top of the broken counter, and they were currently rolling around like there was no tomorrow.

From the living room, Phil was playing the Dave Matthews band at full volume, loud enough to make the orchid petals tremble.

Upstairs the betas were trying to ignore the sounds of crashing, music, and, occasionally, a yowl of pleasure from Tony.  (" _Omega!"_ )

"Well, bonding's like marriage, you find the one and you get hooked," said Mackenzie with a peaceful shrug.  "You married, Jasper?"

"No," said Sitwell succinctly.  A pause, then he added, "If people found out Rogers was double-bonded it would discredit him quite a bit, wouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily.  Might be seen as progressive, y'know, an omega in charge of a trio instead of being on the sidelines," said Mackenzie, still peaceful.  He took a sip from the rim of his coffee cup.

"There's no way for that to be leaked, though.  It's only between us and SHIELD," said Pepper hastily.

"And HYDRA," said Mackenzie, frowning a little.

"And HYDRA," echoed Sitwell thoughtfully, looking out the window.

"It's not a trio. Will people stop calling it that!" Aria huffed in frustration from where she was leaned in the doorway. She held her cigarette loosely between her fingers, a half-eaten burger in her hand.

Sitwell frowned. "That's what it is, right?"

" _No_."

"What else would you call it?" Sitwell asked.

"Steve is with Tony. That's who he wants to be with. No one else," Aria said slowly as she moved back to take her seat again. "It's not a trio. His ex is screwing things up."

"But his ex is still there," Mackenzie pointed out quietly. "And very much a threat."

Aria frowned and dropped her burger down onto the table.  She was no longer hungry.

* * *

 Steve panted against the countertop as he came down from his most recent orgasm, his thighs wet and sticky with sweat and semen and warm from where Tony rested between them. His hands were still held in his mate's grasp loosely and he made no attempt to pull free. He just smiled up at him, blue eyes glazed over like before.

Music blasted in from the living room. It was music Steve didn't recognize.

"I love you," he whispered as he curled his legs away from Tony's waist and let them rest against the countertop. Steve's eyes glinted with mischief. "Sorry about the marble."

"I love you more than marble," replied Tony hoarsely, body shaking.  He hadn't really been kidding about hurting himself when he was talking with Gleason.  Steve was well-lubricated, yeah, but he was still chafing his dick to hell. Especially the knot.

He relaxed on top of Steve, laying his head on the other's chest, listening to the beat of his heart and enjoying the steady up and down movements of his breathing.  He closed his eyes and before he knew it he was--

_\--asleep, in REM sleep, when she was able to access his consciousness.  So very specific circumstances, yes, but nonetheless, this provides us a window into his mind.  It gives us access to information... to Stark, to SHIELD, and of course to the soldier himself. This asset is invaluable."  The woman speaking was young. Karpov didn't like her, clearly, so neither did he. Karpov was bristling, so he was, too._

_General von Strucker was nodding.  "Yes, yes, it's really more than we could have hoped for.  Thank you, Regina."_

_It was a dismissal.  She took her lab notebook and walked out the door._

_Strucker turned to Karpov.  "Well, Vasily. You get to keep your pet for a little longer."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"From now on, however, there cannot be any more electroshock.  We need his mind to be undamaged, the bond as strong as possible.  If we can control the soldier, we can control his spade."_

_Karpov let out a noise of protest.  "But-- my programming--"_

_"No longer important.  From now on you will answer to Dr. Ludheim--"_

_Karpov let out a yowl of indignation and jumped to his feet.  "No! No, General, you can't possibly-- she's a child, she doesn't--"_

_"Her methods have gotten more results from the twins than yours have in years."_

_"But her-- her loyalty is untested, she has only been a member of HYDRA for six years, and haven't I--"_

_"Colonel."_

_"How am I supposed to control him without any programming?!"_

_"I'm sure you'll find a way.  You are a resourceful man. For the time being, we need him in full control of his facilities."_

_"He_ is _in full control of his facilities!"  Karpov gestured to him._

_He'd been blowing a bubble gum; he accidentally spit it out onto the floor._

_Strucker and Karpov stared at him._

_"...where did you get that gum?" demanded Karpov, voice dangerously low._

_The soldier pointed to the omega._

_Karpov and Strucker turned.  The omega was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, chewing gum._

_"How long have you been there?" demanded Strucker.  Even though he must have realized Pietro had come in as Ludheim was leaving.  That he'd heard the casual use of the word "spade," heard about the Winter Soldier's electroshock._

_"We don't want to hurt Captain America.  We only want Stark," said Pietro._

_"And so you will get him.  In return for Rogers," said Strucker with barely controlled patience._

_"What, to breed?  To torture? I know you don't think of us as anything more than dogs," said Pietro.  His eyes were calm, posture relaxed. He seemed supremely in control. The soldier liked him.  He had slipped him gum and also he never raised his voice. The soldier would have liked to mate him.  He liked blonds. Liked feisty blond omegas who challenged authority. This was almost familiar, somehow, but he couldn't quite place it._

_He wished he hadn't dropped his gum.  He looked down at it longingly._

_"Do you want Stark, or not?" asked Strucker.  "What you do with Stark is none of my business or concern, and what I do with Rogers is none of yours."_

_"You act as if you're in a position to make demands.  You can only access the bond with her."_

_"You act as if you're in a position to make demands.  The only reason you haven't gone to auction or been put out on the streets is because of your sister.  Now get the hell out of here, rabbit, and learn to respect your superiors."_

_A flash of anger from the omega.  Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.  The soldier watched with interest._

_The General pulled his hand down over his face with a soft scoff.  "Damn him. If it weren't for the witch..."_

_"Oh, just wait until his heat.  Give the men a few rounds with him and he'll be putty," said Vasily dismissively._

_"Always the stick, never the carrot.  Had no one ever taught you negotiation?  You'll have to learn. No more electroshock," said Strucker sternly.  He held out a folder. "I want the two of them in close proximity, to strengthen the bond."_

_"We're to go to the States?"_

_"No.  Too dangerous.  Baja. Consider it a little vacation for you and your soldier.  Dr. Ludheim will be working with Dr. Liebman out of Mexico City; you can make your reports to her from now on."_

_Karpov ground his teeth.  The soldier bristled in sympathy._

_"Come on, then," said Karpov, turning toward the door.  Obediently, the soldier rose; he accidentally trod in the gum on his way out.  Yet another disappointment._


	21. Post-Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stick with us long enough, I can guarantee 100% that Tony will someday get into a fist fight with Pitbull. For those wondering, their long-standing argument is over who came up with the nickname "Mr. Worldwide." - T

Tony woke up half-hard again, Steve's scent in his nose but the unmistakable taste of Juicy Fruit in his mouth and a searing headache behind his eyes.

They spent the rest of the day screwing in the kitchen and it worked well, really. Food and water were always at hand and so were copious amounts of pills. Steve even delivered food outside of Phil's tent along with more ice when him and Tony managed to separate for brief moments. They broke off a few more pieces of marble and the surface of the counter actually cracked when Steve rode Tony on top of it, but aside from that the damage was minimal. As the end of the day finally came crawling around Steve felt far less needy and desperate than he had before.

They stumbled up the stairs to bed by night time. Steve spotted a group of people in the upper living room, the flash of Pepper's bright hair amongst them, as they passed but they didn't stop to say hi. Him and Tony were exhausted. Steve felt like there was an ache in his bones and a tug in his belly with every step. The heat was almost over. He could feel it. _Thank God_.

Steve woke up to the smell of bacon and sausages and no heat.

_No heat._

He still felt horny, he would for a few days...but he no longer felt a need to jump Tony's bones. He no longer felt a need to straddle him whilst he still slept. Steve blinked. The smell of food was really very tempting but he couldn't leave Tony alone and make him panic again and he looked so peaceful just lying there Steve daren't wake him up either.  He just lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, enjoying the sensation of being back in control of himself.

"I want food," Phil announced downstairs from his den, much to everyone else's surprise. "And then I want a shower."

"Well, we can't give you a shower in the tepee," Pepper pointed out tentatively.

"I know," Phil said dryly. "But food first."

Aria turned to MacKenzie as she pushed sausages around a frying pan. "Does this mean it's going to be over for Steve too?"

"I don't know how the soldier works," said Mackenzie with a smile, "but heats typically average, what, three, five days?  No more than six or seven. So yeah, I'm guessing he's probably over the worst of it."

"Thank God," said Pepper, surveying the damage to the kitchen.  "...well, we were due for a remodel anyway. Still, this was imported marble... I wish they'd been more careful..."  She sighed and put the kettle onto the stove. "Phil?!" she called. "Do you want to maybe come out of your nest now?"

She walked into the living room.  Phil poked his head out. His short hair was as messy as short hair could get, and there were dark circles under his eyes.  He hesitated. "I... not yet. Thanks, Virginia. I'll pull it down later today, maybe." A look of worry crossed his face, and then he said, "...maybe tomorrow.  I'm sorry, I--"

"You don't need to apologize," Pepper cut him off.  "Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Would you mind... watching it while I grab a shower?"

"Not a problem," she said.  "Let me go get you food, okay?  JARVIS, can you check up on the boys?"

Upstairs, JARVIS prompted, "Good morning, sir."

Tony groaned and stretched, then wrapped his arms around Steve.  "Oh.... maaaay... guh," he slurred happily, nipping Steve's neck.

"Food has been prepared for you downstairs."

Tony sat up and sniffed, then looked over at Steve with an exhausted grin.  "Was... was that it? It's over already?" He rubbed his eyes, then reached for his glasses on the bedside stand.  "That was easy. Only one assassination attempt, and most of the skin on my dick is still there." (He was half-joking.  The chafing was actually pretty bad. He couldn't remember where the balm Dr. Gleason had given him had gone. He'd have Pepper locate it for him later.)  "I'm starving. You wanna go get some breakfast?" he offered, slipping his hand into Steve's.

He felt... close.  He couldn't quite describe this feeling, post-heat.  He felt an intense affection for Steve. Love, intimacy... going through it together, he felt like their bond was... well... stronger or something.  This, he realized, was the point. Heats were all about knocking up omegas, biologically. But emotionally, afterwards... he felt closer to Steve than ever.

He eyed him gooily, then leaned forward to kiss his nose.  He hadn't felt this loving toward a human being in literally his entire life.  The desperate need to mate had been replaced with a smug, unshakeable passion for his omega.   _His_ omega.  It was delightful.  Tony would never admit this feeling of love, but goddamn was he enjoying it.

Briefly, it crossed his mind that Steve and Barnes had never gotten this.  That Barnes's refusal to mate Steve, and Steve's inability to have a full heat, meant they never experienced this weird post-heat bonding.  He had mixed feelings. Pity, yes. Outrage on Steve's behalf. Relief that this was unique to him and Steve, and that he didn't have to share this with Barnes.  And also a begrudging sense of respect that Barnes had had the willpower never to mate Steve. Tony still hadn't told him about Barnes's motivations, about Barnes's concern for Steve's health.  Still hadn't told him that he was sure that Barnes had actually loved him. It would only complicate things and Tony didn't want the competition.

"I love you," he mumbled.  He said those words a lot less than Steve did.  They felt foreign in his mouth. But he said them now because he meant them; he felt high from the post-heat rush of hormones.  He kissed Steve's nose again.

"That's the worst of it," Steve hummed and entwined their fingers together with a sleepy smile. He felt more with it than he had in days, his gaze focused despite his sleepiness as it flitted over Tony's face. "I love you too," he whispered and tilted his head up to steal a quick kiss from Tony's lips. It felt right. It felt easy. It felt as simple as breathing.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Steve added softly, nipping at his bottom lip lightly before he pulled back to sit up. His hair was a bit of a mess and he was in desperate need of a shower but food would always have to come first. Shakily, he stood and pulled Tony up with him. Steve pulled a face as he moved. Even with the super serum he was still sore between his legs. And yes, parts of the heat itself had been painful but it was nothing compared to going through one alone.

Steve grabbed a robe (one of his own this time, which meant better coverage) and waited for Tony to grab his before they cautiously made their way downstairs. He could still see the tepee in the kitchen but didn't sense Phil inside of it. Pepper was on the sofa with a coffee, scrolling through emails on her tablet.

Sitwell was seated at what was left of the marble breakfast bar in the center and Aria was currently plating up a full English breakfast for each of them. Steve really didn't pay her enough. And then there was a man Steve didn't recognize. He looked like someone who could actually handle Steve in a fight, well built and strong. He was sure they sent him with that intention.

"I gave you extra sausages and bacon and eggs...and everything," Aria told Steve as she pushed a plate towards him with a tired smile. "You certainly look better. Both of you. Oh! Pills."

Steve caught the boxes and moved to take them, counting them out for the hours he'd missed while he grabbed his coffee and watched MacKenzie warily out of the corner of his eye. He didn't know him and he was in their house and he wasn't feeble like Sitwell. Steve wasn't sure he appreciated him being here. Aria certainly seemed quite chummy with him. They had been laughing over something when Steve had come down with Tony.

As if reading Steve's uneasiness, the agent turned around and held out his hand to shake.

"Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers. My name is Agent Mackenzie; it's a pleasure to finally meet both of you."

Steve shook his hand when it was offered. The man looked...excited to see them, maybe? "I'm afraid I don't know the name. I heard so many in my first weeks at SHIELD I think I forgot most of them."

Tony beamed at Pepper.  "It's Christmas Eve. Can we go up to the lodge?" he asked, ignoring the offered hand.

Pepper looked up.  "You're joking."

"Heat's over.  We can still make it, Pep.  Please?" He offered her a hand.

She took it cautiously; Tony yanked her to her feet, slipped an arm around her waist, and whirled her around before dipping her.

" _Tony!_ " she shrieked.

"Sorry.  I'm in love," said Tony with a broad grin, letting her go.  "Where's Coulson?"

"He went to get a shower.  I'm guarding his nest."

Tony's eyes lit up with interest and he walked toward the den; Pepper grabbed his arm.  "Don't. That's his."

"I want to see the inside."

"No, Tony."

"He won't know.  Just a quick peek."

" _No_ , Tony.  Go get breakfast."

Tony huffed and obediently walked into the kitchen.  Everyone was stepping over pieces of marble and getting breakfast at what was left of the counter.  Tony sidled up behind Steve and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his cheek against Steve's back.  "Hiya."

He untangled himself to let Aria serve him a plate of food.  He was starving; he wolfed it down and mumbled a belated greeting to Agent Mackenzie.  "Another agent?  Jesus."

"Sorry, Stark," said Mackenzie with a smile.  "They're taking this breach pretty seriously. And with good reason.  Rogers is worth a dozen men."

"You're telling me," said Tony with a grin, walking over to the freezer and pulling out a bottle of vodka.  "White Russian?"

"What?"

"White Russian.  It's a breakfast drink.  You want one?"

Mackenzie looked at his watch.  "It's a bit early for me."

"Your loss."  Tony pulled milk out of the fridge, humming to himself.   "So it's decided, we're all going up to the lodge today."

Aria and Mackenzie both looked surprised at this information.

"--because that's me and Pepper's traditional and it's Christmas Eve.  If we leave by noon and speed like crazy we can get there before four, maybe even by three."

"I don't think Fury wanted us to leave the--" began Mackenzie.

"--and then we can get back by the thirtieth because I still have a lot of planning to do for my New Year's party.  PEPPER!" yelled Tony suddenly. "DID YOU GET POSNER?"

"NO!" she yelled from the living room.  "I CAN GET AVICII OR PITBULL."

Tony's hackles rose.  "I REFUSE TO BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS THAT MAN."

"LET IT GO, TONY."

(Tony had had a long-standing feud with Pitbull for reasons he couldn't remember.)

"BOOK AVICII OR AM."

"AM NEARLY GOT KILLED AT YOUR BIRTHDAY."

"...AVICII, THEN!"

"I really don't think you can throw the party in light of--" began Mackenzie.

"--Steve, Stone and Germaine want to meet with you ASAP.  Germaine's available January third and Stone can do the thirtieth," said Aria briskly.  "If you're interested. SA has been getting a lot of attention since McDavid's appearance with you on Banksy and Boswell, so it might be worth meeting them to discuss the gala."

"CAN YOU GET THE VITAMIN STRING QUARTET FOR THE GALA?" hollered Tony suddenly.

"I CAN GET PITBULL," yelled back Pepper.

Tony looked incensed.  Mackenzie stifled a laugh.

"Sure, I can meet with them...I literally don't understand any of their conversations about omega rights.  I kind of missed a lot the last few decades. Do I need to understand it?" Steve asked awkwardly and Aria assured him with a bemused shake of her head that no, he did not. He had no idea who these people even were, aside from friends of Banksy's.

"Captain Rogers really can't leave the premises," Sitwell piped up from his place at the edge of the table, hands clasped in his lap. He watched Steve devour the rest of his breakfast with mild disgust and curiosity. Steve ignored him watching. "Headquarters have been very clear about that. Pierce has issued an order."

Steve narrowed his eyes as he swallowed his last piece of bacon. "So what happens if I leave the house?"

"You, er-" Sitwell cleared his throat, clearly not liking being put on the spot. "SHIELD would be allowed to arrest you, Captain."

"And what happens if I resist arrest?" Steve asked, raising a brow.

Aria sighed in the background. " _Steve_. Come on."

"The heat's over. I'm as safe as can be," Steve said calmly. "If I'm going to be any use to SHIELD, you're going to have to trust me."

"It's not a matter of trusting _you_ ," Mackenzie pointed out.

"Well then you have to trust that I'm strong enough," Steve insisted. "I know what it's like to have someone stuck in your head who you don't really want there. I know what it's like to have someone cling to your every waking emotion and taint every single one. I know what a shit bond feels like. I lived through it. This is nothing compared to that. This is like an echo of that and I can handle it. If anything, it makes me punch harder."

"That's what we're worried about," Sitwell muttered under his breath and Mackenzie shot him a look.

Steve's phone pinged across the table. A text from Natasha. He grabbed it and frowned:

_ > I heard about what happened. Are you ok?  
_

_ > Yes_, Steve replied, _but I nearly killed Tony, Nat. Or Bucky did. It's confusing._

_ > Do you need us to come over?  Clint's mostly over it... he's in the shower now.  
_

_ > Having another Alpha here might makes things worse. Besides, tomorrow is Christmas.  Spend it together.  It's ok. But thank you. _

"Your safety is more important to Pierce than anything," Sitwell insisted. He was tapping away on his phone without even looking at the screen. Steve would have been impressed months ago but he soon realized being able to type without looking was normal, even with such small screens. He felt an odd itch to snatch Sitwell's phone away from him.

"I could still get to my family's by tonight if I left in the next few hours," Pepper pointed out softly, testing the waters.

Tony looked around in alarm.  Pepper's tentative suggestion had rattled him.

"No... no, guys... we can make this work," he protested.  "Pepper." He looked at the redhead imploringly. "Pepper, please.  Please, _we're_ family.  We... we do the lodge every year."

Mackenzie sighed. "If it makes you feel any better Stark, all of us would rather be somewhere else but...better safe than sorry. Christmas at home is better than Christmas in a...you know, a fight or something." He rubbed at the nape of his neck and his gaze flitted over to Steve and it was almost like they were sizing each other up for a moment. Sure, Mackenzie was as big as him (and perhaps taller) but he didn't have super strength. The thought of Steve going AWOL obviously still made him nervous.

"I can get everything delivered for a Christmas dinner tomorrow," Aria offered gently, trying to placate the room. "Make it, you know, Christmassy..."

"But we're going up to the lodge today.  We're allowed to go up to the lodge, right?" demanded Tony.

"No," said Sitwell.

"But..."  Tony looked at Steve with alarm.  "But it's Christmas Eve... PEPPER?"

"I suppose we could have Stone or Germaine come here..." mused Aria thoughtfully, tapping away at her phone.

"You want me to spend _Christmas_ here, with a bunch of government shills?"

"Wow, thanks," muttered Mackenzie.

"Pepper, please," begged Tony.

"Tony.  For once.  Please. Try to think about someone else," said Pepper softly.

Tony looked from her to Steve.

"I'll be back in less than a week.  I promise. You'll have Steve here--"

"But my New Year's--"

"Absolutely not," said Sitwell.

Tony looked positively horrified.

"Tony.  Can I talk to you outside?" asked Pepper, rising.

Tony nodded numbly, rose, and followed her out onto the back deck.  Inside, Mackenzie shook his head slowly. "No offense to your mate, Rogers, but how the hell did he get approved for action?  He's an emotional wreck."

"Give him a break," said Coulson, walking in slowly, toweling his hair.  "He's post-heat. He's probably just exhausted."

"I think you're giving him too much credit," muttered Sitwell darkly, rising, still tapping on his phone.  "Excuse me. I need to report to Pierce that Rogers is out of heat."

"Every year we do the lodge on Christmas Eve and then we have Stark Party New Year," insisted Tony as he followed Pepper out toward the pool deck.  "That's _tradition_.  We won't be leaving the premises, we're just going to my other residence, we'll just change houses... come on, there's not even a Christmas tree here, there's no snow or anything.  Pierce wouldn't want to ruin our first Christmas together, would he?"

_"Our first Christmas together."  Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders and smiled at him.  Steve smiled back, a couple of small coughs wracking his body. He was warm, his body going into pre-heat.  It had made him a little more active than usual, gotten him into a festive mood. They'd nailed some socks over the radiator and strung popcorn around.  There was no tree; it wouldn't have fit in the apartment, anyway._

_Bucky rubbed Steve's back until the coughing subsided.  "You reckon we're gonna have snow tomorrow?"_

_"Sure do.  That's what they said on the radio," said Steve._

_"Got you something nice," said Bucky teasingly._

_"There's only one thing I want," replied Steve.  And just like that the mood had shifted. Steve was looking up at him, a glint in his eyes, hopeful and mischievous.  Bucky reached over and carded his fingers through Steve's hair, swallowing._

_"...I'm sorry, Stevie," he said quietly._

_That hopeful little light in Steve's eyes disappeared.  His shoulders dropped. He turned away and busied himself over the stove, making their dinner, and Bucky turned on the radio.  Benny Goodman's "Don't Be That Way" washed over them, and Bucky went over to the window to smoke. When he opened it, a gust of cold air fluttered in, and he heard Steve cough behind him.  He tried to ignore it. The cigarette smoke helped mask his smell._

His eyes snapped open.  He could still smell an omega.  But not the one from the dream.

He rolled over.  The blond was staring at him.  The one with the silvery hair and the amber eyes.

"Happy Christmas," he said, his gaze meeting the soldier's.  He held out a tiny box, wrapped in silver paper.

The soldier took it, baffled, and sat up on the edge of his cot.  Was he supposed to deliver this package to someone? He waited for orders.

After a moment, the blond said, "It's a present for you."

The soldier stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Open it," ordered the blond.

His brow furrowed.  He obediently tore off the silver paper.  There was a box of Lucky Strikes. He looked up.

The omega grinned at him.  "I thought you might like to have one once in a while without needing to roll over and beg for it."

"I don't understand," he said in a low voice.

"It's a present for you, for Christmas.  For you to enjoy," said the omega patiently.

"Who authorized this?"

"No one authorized it.  It's just a gift."

The soldier looked down and turned the pack of cigarettes over in his hands, unsure of himself.  He looked up. "...his middle name was Grant," he said suddenly.

"Who, Captain Rogers?"

"Yes.  When I smoked, he'd cough.  We didn't have enough money for a tree.  We both liked the Brooklyn Dodgers. His eyesight wasn't so great, though, and we never got good seats.  I always wanted to catch a foul ball but I never did."

"I don't hate him," said the omega.  "Just Stark. Stark is a murderer. The Captain..."  He shrugged a little, then scowled. "He's only an ignorant American.  He's as brainwashed as you are. But he is right about one thing. Us rabbits... we should be treated better."

"If you wanted an omega you could just buy one.  They had auctions and everything," said the soldier, remembering.  "That's how come I took him. I didn't want him to ever end up there.  I wanted to protect him."

"Now what?" asked the omega.

"Now Karpov says I can protect him by killing Stark."

"You'll protect everyone by killing Stark.  He's a dangerous man," said the omega, rising.  "Happy Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," echoed the soldier vaguely, turning the pack of cigarettes over in his hands.  "...Pietro?"

"Yes?"

"Your sister.  Is _she_ dangerous?"

"Not unless you make her mad," he said with a smile.  "Good night, James."


	22. The Kiss

Part of Tony's personality was a tendency to fixate on things.  His tunnel-vision usually occurred with engineering problems and was part of the reason he was capable of working for thirty-six hour blocks with no sleep or food.  But it applied to other things, and it was clear this was one of them: he was having trouble accepting that they would not be going to the lodge for Christmas this year.

Pepper steered him outside to try to talk him through it.

She made sure the door was closed behind them before turning to Tony.  The surface of the pool was crystal-clear; the sun was shining; it was distinctively non-Christmas-like.

"Tony," said Pepper softly.  She placed her hands on Tony's upper arms and looked up at him, gently stroking his arms.  "Tony, you can handle a little bit of change. You have Steve and Steve loves you. You're in a very good, very safe place right now.  And I'm really happy for you. I just want a couple of days off. That's all. Consider it your Christmas present to me. Please?"

"But Connecticut is like three thousand miles away.  What if I need you?"

"Well, that's what phones are for.  Come on, Tony.  You won't even notice I'm gone.  You'll be with Steve, and you two will have a _great_ Christmas.  Please?"

Tony shook his head.

"... _please_?"

Tony looked at her face.  The pale, creamy skin dotted with freckles, the liquid-copper hair, the large, wet green eyes and long lashes.

He reached up and touched her cheek, well aware that he probably looked like hell, with a scruffy beard and dark circles under his eyes.

"You really wanna go?" he said, slowly, as if finally understanding her.

"Yes."

"...you'll come back?"

"Don't I always?" she asked with a small little smile.

Tony smiled back, then tilted his head and leaned in.

Their lips brushed.

Pepper yanked away.

" _Anthony!"_ She flushed bright red and looked like the only reason she hadn't slapped him was because she was too shocked.

"--sorry, I thought we were having a moment."

" _What the hell is wrong with you_?  I'm taking my days off!  Jesus Christ, Tony!" she yelled, clearly furious.

"Pep, wait!"

Pepper stormed back into the house like a thundercloud.  Everyone looked up with interest at the drama unfolding; Pepper was grabbing her sweater off the back of the couch.

"Pep, c'mon--"  Tony was following her at a safe distance, not wanting to get slapped.

Pepper jabbed a finger at him.  "Don't you _dare_ call me!  I'm going home!  I'll be back as scheduled.  Good- _bye_ , Mr. Stark!"  With that, she turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

Coulson let out a low whistle.  "What in God's green earth did you say to her, Stark?"

"Nothing!" said Tony, spreading out his arms.  "Sometimes she's just emotional like that."

Aria cocked an eyebrow.  "Sometimes _Virginia_ is emotional?"

Tony shrugged again and went to pour himself a drink.

* * *

_"Do you know what it feels like?" Steve whispered. He was on the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders where he sat curled up. He was hunched over and shaking with the cold, trembling fingers curled around a watery cup of cocoa in his lap. He looked exhausted. He hadn't slept well, but then, he never did on the couch. Whenever Bucky had been fooling around with girls Steve refused to come to bed afterwards. Sometimes he refused for weeks. Bucky would get so mad at him, worry about him being too cold at night..._

_Bucky's shoulders tensed, his back to Steve where he stood by the kitchen counter as he was making up his sandwich for lunch before he went out to his day's work at the docks._

_He didn't answer. He couldn't answer._

_"It feels like the greatest shame in the world. Because I'm not good enough. I'm not enough for you and I never will be. And you won't even admit it."_

_"Stevie-"_

_"Don't you dare call me that!"_

_Bucky turned around to look at him, his brow drawn into a tight line and his lips pressed together. It was the same face Steve wore just before he got into a fight. Bucky loved that about him._

_"An Alpha has needs. You know that." His words didn't really sound like his own. It was the sort of thing the guys down at the docks would say, or his father had, or something they printed in the papers...but Bucky said it anyway._

_Steve's bottom lip trembled. "If you really respected me, you wouldn't have-" He rubbed at his face. He wouldn't cry. Goddammit._

_"Steve..." Bucky moved to comfort him._

_Steve threw the cocoa at him. It wasn't hot enough to burn; Steve would never have done anything to actually hurt Bucky._

_Then he stood and stormed out of the living room. Bucky shouted after him but he ignored him. Steve went to lock himself in the bathroom. He would only come out once Bucky had left for work. He could cry in here, where Bucky wouldn't see him. But Steve wouldn't let him see. He did not want pity. He hated it._

_This was a familiar routine for them now._

_Bucky knocked on the door hopefully. "Steve?"_

_"I hate the way you make me feel! I hate it everyday! Now leave me alone!" Steve cried out and kicked his foot against the door to make his point. Bucky backed away._

"--Steve? Are you okay?" Aria had a hand on his arm. She was watching him with concern. So were the other agents. Steve looked across the room and realized he'd thrown his coffee against the wall.

Huh.

He blinked.

Aria was already texting Pepper with her other hand, checking she was actually okay. Steve seemed to have spaced out for the entire event.

"I think I'm gonna go sleep," Steve said quietly as he stood, a strange...hollow feeling lingering in his chest. "I just had a flashback, that's all."

"Did something trigger it?" Sitwell asked curiously.

"I...I don't know? I'm just gonna go up," Steve breathed and ran a hand over his face before he headed up the stairs.

Tony had barely reached the bar and begun mixing himself a drink when he heard the crash and several exclamations of surprise.  Steve had hurled his mug across the room and it had shattered; Mackenzie's hand was on his hip holster, ready to draw.

Tony stared in alarm, but Steve looked confused, not murderous.

Was this normal, post-heat?  Tony wasn't sure. Steve looked tired suddenly.

Tony grabbed a bottle from the bar and padded over to him.  "Hey," he said gently, throwing an arm around his waist. "I'll come with you."

"We're supposed to be keeping an eye on you for occurrences like that one," Mackenzie reminded him.

"Give us a break, will you?  We'll be upstairs. You can come if you hear any more smashing," snapped Tony, walking up the stairs with Steve.  He looked over him, concerned. Steve had a weird look on his face. He seemed dazed. Tony reached up to touch the mark on his neck.  "Hey... you wanna talk about it?" he asked. He knew Steve had flashbacks; a lot of them were about the war. Yelling about mortar in the trenches and mustard gas and thinking men had had their arms blown off.  A chilling reminder of Tony's family's legacy.

But this felt different.  There wasn't any panic coming off of Steve, just a sort of sad, accepting disappointment.

Was this about Christmas?

"...we can go to the lodge next year," Tony reassured him.  "C'mon, let's take a nap and... well... I guess we'll start a new tradition."  Tony was disappointed too, supremely disappointed. But it didn't look like SHIELD was messing around and as much as Tony loathed rules, he also didn't want to get Steve in trouble.  Steve was in a delicate place, emotionally, what with him being in post-heat and all.

Tony was still planning on having the damn New Year's party, though.  Just because they weren't allowed off the premises didn't mean Tony couldn't invite people onto the premises.

"It's not about Christmas Tony," Steve said softly. He didn't lean away from his touch but he didn't lean into it either. He sank down on the mattress, his head in his hands as he tried to push away the threatening migraine and sudden fatigue. It wouldn't go away; that empty feeling Bucky left him with every time Steve heard the shrill laugh of a girl he brought home.

If Steve had read up on these things, or if Tony had, they'd both know it was normal for a omega to feel a lull after the high of a heat. And maybe Steve had felt it too, when Tony was outside with Pepper... a tiny flutter of that feeling had triggered a strange and repetitive memory. He and Bucky had had that argument so many times.

Steve didn't know why he was feeling it that particular morning.

Maybe he'd just been through his heat. Yes. That was it. It was the day after boxing day. Bucky had gone out the night after Christmas and brought her home. Steve had squeezed a pillow around his ears to try and avoid hearing the banging in the bedroom. He'd cried silently and angrily as he'd watched the odd firework being let off from their neighbors outside.

Steve blinked and looked up, seeing a concerned Tony watching him. "It's not a...scary memory," he whispered. "Just a sad one.  Can we sleep? I mean, you don't have to. But I just wanna sleep it off."

"Sure, babe," said Tony, watching Steve with concern.  He was a bit nervous about lying down with Steve, considering Steve had just thrown a cup across the room and also attacked him earlier.  But he emphasized with the flashbacks and he was feeling depressed about how Christmas Eve was turning out... not to mention Pepper's rejection.

He climbed into bed, bottle still in hand, and pulled back and covers, gesturing for Steve to lie down, to let Tony put an arm around him.  Tony knew Steve liked to lay his head on his chest, feel the heat from the arc reactor. He figured he'd let Steve nap and work his way through the rest of the liquor in the bottle, eventually passing out, too, and in the morning it would be Christmas and they'd make the most of it.  Steve could have his little omega pals come over to talk charity work, and Tony could plan the party, and... well, they'd be fine.

Downstairs, Aria's phone chimed in response to her text to Pepper, asking if everything was okay.

_ > No, I'm not okay.  Tony just tried to kiss me.  He thought we were having a "moment" because I asked for time off. _

A partial lie, of course.  Pepper considered Steve and Aria both to be friends, close friends, even, if only because she saw them so regularly.  She didn't want to admit to an actual kiss. Besides, it was hardly that; brief, with only a faint brush of lips, like butterfly wings.

She'd put up with years of what probably qualified as sexual harassment from Tony and was willing to dismiss this as him perhaps being a little bit stupid because he was upset about the disruption to his routine and because he was flooded with hormones from Steve's heat, but she couldn't just ignore it, either.  She couldn't let him sabotage his relationship with Steve. She liked and respected Steve, and she was all too aware of the concerns Aria had expressed to her only days ago, before they'd taped _Banksy and Boswell_.

_ > I'm going to have a long talk with him when I get back. _

_ > Well, shit_, Aria texted back.

_ > Just don't let Steve find out. He's over sensitive about this stuff. He will literally walk out of here and not come back. I'm not kidding._

_ > And hey, if you want to grab drinks after said long talk, just let me know.   
_

A few days of reflection on this would do her good.  She'd consult with her mother and her sorority sisters-- no, scratch that.  All of them had been urging her to distance herself from Tony for years; his reputation with women was a dark stain on her otherwise perfect record of professionalism.  She bore all the rumors and theorizing by the paparazzi stoically, with her head held high, because she had nothing at all to hide. Tony was more like a little brother to her than anything, eccentric and fragile and intelligent and, in his own weird way, strangely charitable, all of which she liked.  But as far as dating went, she preferred men who weren't prone to 2 am break-downs. She liked people who were reliable, steadfast, and confident. And while Tony strutted around like a peacock, she knew him well enough to know it was all posturing, and no substance. Tony had terrible self-esteem and part of the reason he slept around in the first place was as an ego boost.

Besides all that, he drank.  Pepper didn't abide drinking.

Currently, in fact, Tony was nursing the bottle of single-malt, relaxing back against the pillows.  He wanted to argue more with SHIELD about going up to the lodge but Steve suddenly seemed so down, so tired, and Tony was worried he might be getting sick or something.  He didn't know how heats worked; lots of omegas seemed lethargic in post-heat. Maybe Steve needed to stay home and rest after all. What was the point of hauling him up a mountain if he would be too tired to do anything fun once he got up there?

Tony nuzzled his hair, the drink making him feel warm and fuzzy and loose and affectionate.  "Happy first heat, Stevie. G'night," he mumbled, taking another swig.

Steve usually had rules, to help tackle the drinking.  Like no drinking in the bed, for example.  Steve refused to sleep with Tony if it seemed like he was drunk; he didn't like enabling what was clearly a problem, and also, it didn't feel fair, watching Tony get sloshed when _he_ couldn't get drunk anymore, himself.

If he'd been more with it he would have gone to sleep somewhere else.  The couch maybe.

But he loved his mate and they'd just spent a heat together.  He couldn't imagine the two of them sleeping apart.

Just this once, he decided, he could bend the rules.

"Happy...first...heat..." Steve mumbled, already drifting off.


	23. Christmas

Steve woke early to a silent house. Even with so many guests in it, it was quiet. When Steve went downstairs he couldn't see anyone and Phil wasn't asleep in his tepee. It was almost eerie, how quiet it was. Steve eyed the broken marble and felt a little impressed with himself in all honesty. Though a little bad too (but not really.)

The heat was gone and left an ache in his bones which just made him want to sleep for days.

Steve went to go put the kettle on and then get out waffle mix. Breakfast in bed seemed like a great idea to him. Honestly, he just wanted a calm and quiet Christmas. He wanted to spend it in bed with cheesy movies he needed to catch up on and those Christmassy biscuits from Germany that he freakin' loved.  Those biscuits were one of the fondest memories he had of the war.  ...did they even make those anymore?

He made their usual breakfast because he didn't really think Christmas food for breakfast was a thing anyways. Steve carried it upstairs, knowing that the smell of bacon always helped get Tony up.

He set the food down by the bed side and then leaned down to kiss Tony's forehead.

"Merry Christmas."

Tony's eyes fluttered open and he stretched, smiling.  "Merry Christmas, Stevie." He reached out to touch Steve's cheek and struggled to sit up.  He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and observed the breakfast in front of him, going straight for the bacon and coffee.

"...Steve?  I didn't wrap your presents, either.  They're down in the lab," said Tony. He paused, then quickly reassured Steve, "Don't worry, it's nothing alive this time.  Well, I mean, it's probably not alive _anymore_... I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"  He gave Steve a grin. "I guess there won't be any Eskimo games today... you just want to cuddle in bed and watch movies?  Normally I just spend Christmas drinking eggnog alone."

He said it glibly but it wasn't a joke.  He and Pepper had always spent Christmas Eve together, but for Christmas proper, Tony was usually alone.  He hadn't had a proper Christmas for decades. He wondered if he ought to dig up the menorah for Aria. Wondered if all the agents hovering around were going to treat this like a normal day or put on a bunch of jolly good cheer.  He couldn't quite picture Coulson in a Santa hat.

Steve considered Tony with a small smile.  He had always liked Tony in glasses. He didn't know why. Clint assured him it was a common thing to like so he didn't think too much about it. He moved to get back into bed. The sheets were warm and soft and the thought of staying in bed all day was a very tempting one. "Staying in bed sounds perfect, actually," he said softly and leaned back against the pillows as he watched Tony nurse his coffee like it was his lifeblood. He smiled. He wanted more memories like this.

Already his phone had begun pinging with various well wishes from his contacts.  He ignored it, focused on Steve and the bacon. "How you feeling? Better?" he asked.  Steve was still musky with post-heat but he looked a lot better than he had earlier. Tony felt a pang of affection.  "...you want me to give you a bath later?" he offered, sipping his coffee.

Steve perked up at the mention of bath. Steve was honestly still feeling pretty gross. He'd taken a very quick shower this morning so he felt decent enough to walk around the house but that was it. They both desperately needed a bath. The heat wasn't all that sexy and neither was the aftermath. It was the preheat that was the fun bit-- Steve had missed feeling that high. It was the only real kind of kick he got ever since he couldn't get drunk anymore.

"I think Aria's having a lie-in for Christmas," Steve murmured as he slowly picked at pieces of waffle. His appetite had lulled. Everything had lulled really. Steve seemed sleepy despite the fact he'd been awake for an hour. It wasn't a bad thing. He almost enjoyed this feeling of doziness. "Very well deserved.  So... are we having a day of Christmas movies? Because apparently they're a thing and I've not seen a single one."

Tony's face broke into a grin.  "Yeah. I got all the classics and you're gonna sit through every single one.  Starting with ones from your era. Miracle on 34th Street, 1947. It's a Wonderful Life, 1946.  Then the ones from mine. A Christmas Story was '83... oh, and I've got Nightmare Before Christmas, you'll like that one.  Plus Grinch, Elf, and Home Alone. All necessary viewing."

Tony wouldn't admit it directly, but he'd spent a lot of his lonely Christmases binge-watching holiday specials while getting drunk.  In fact, last year, he'd ended up weeping at a Mormon Christmas special called "Mr. Kruger's Christmas." In his defense, he was three bottles of wine and a bottle of eggnog in at that point.

He slipped an arm around Steve's shoulders, letting the omega slid down into the bed.  Laying down was one of the few circumstances where Tony got to feel taller; he loved when Steve rested his head on his chest.  Steve was one of four people, ever, who had touched the arc reactor, and in a way, Tony had almost come to enjoy it. He would have been comfortable placing the thing in Steve's hands.  It had become routine for Tony to pop it out and clean his chest socket during their morning showers, and Steve no longer showed the slightest look of surprise or disgust, which made Tony feel warm and normal.

"Jarv?" he called.  "Put on my Christmas movie list.  Rogers, enjoy." He kissed the top of the omega's head and settled down for a lazy day in bed.  It wasn't the lodge, but it was still nice.

"Shall I remove Mr. Kruger's Christmas from the list?" asked JARVIS drily.

"...shut up, JARVIS.  Yes, remove it," snapped Tony.  He'd thought he'd told the AI to forget about that.  Sometimes JARVIS was too smart for his own good.

Tony and Steve dozed through a couple of movies before Tony took him off to wash him.  He massaged his scalp, his shoulders, feeling the tension drain out of his muscles. Tony had never cared for another person before and found he liked the way the omega's head lolled into his hands, the appreciative little noises Steve made as Tony dripped warm water down his back.

In Steve's humble opinion, it was probably the best Christmas ever. Steve wasn't freezing for the whole day, and they had food and real presents. He'd always just drawn Bucky pictures each year. He'd never been able to afford actual things before. Although this year Steve hadn't strayed too far from his usual style. After two movies and a very long bath Steve gave Tony his present.

They settled back down and Steve handed Tony a flat package with silver paper.  Tony tore it open and was immediately rendered speechless.

It was a collection of picture frames made out of pieces of wood, all of them entwined together to create five separate frames. Each held a drawing Steve had done. The sketches were light and happy, not weighed down with heavy shading and thick lines. You had to look closely to see the details. You had to really _look_ at them.

The first one was Tony at his work bench, brow knotted together in concentration as he worked on something small with his hands. The second one was of Happy, beaming and being his usual self, hand raised in a peace sign. The third one was of Pepper, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as he scrolled down her tablet. The fourth was of Rhodey, giving a mock salute at someone out of his line of vision. And the fifth was of Tony and Steve together. It was a picture Pepper had taken from Steve's birthday... they were both looking at each other and smiling, their noses almost touching. It was a sweet moment and they weren't aware they were being watched.

"You have like... no pictures up here," Steve breathed. "I thought it might be nice to... have some." He offered Tony a nervous smile.

Tony's rough hands moved delicately over the pictures.  He wasn't sure how to feel about this. Tony's house was decorated with inoffensive, meaningless modern arm.  Shapes and colors. Not people.

"...thanks," he said finally, softly.  He felt a little choked up and he was stone-cold sober.  A dangerous place to be.

He set it delicately down on the stand beside the bed, but just before dinner, Steve saw him taking it down to the shop.  There were only a few pictures in the house, and those were over Tony's workbench. Steve realized where his present was going.  It was probably going to be set on Tony's desk, next to the one of him and his father, a rare picture from Tony's childhood with both of them smiling.

Tony returned with a menorah and a package.  He handed it to Steve; it was long as his arm and extraordinarily heavy.  Tony carried it in both arms, grunting with effort. The wrapping was lumpy and was, on inspection, graph paper, not actual wrapping paper; clearly, Tony had done it himself.

"That better not be a missile," said Sitwell, staring at it.

"Naw," said Tony.  "Look, Aria, I got this for ya.  I probably remember the words... uh, lemme think... _baruch atah adonai--"_

Aria blinked in surprise.  Clearly, she didn't know the words herself.

Tony closed his eyes and suddenly, in a surprisingly smooth baritone, recited, " _Baruch aaaataaaah Adonai. Eloheinu, Melech haolam... asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotaaaaav.... v'tsivanu.... l'hadlik nerrrrr.... shel Haaaa-nuuuu-kkaaaah!"_

He beamed at her, then added, "I don't got candles."

"You're kidding me," said Phil, staring at Tony in shock.

Tony misinterpreted this.  "...why would I have candles?" he snapped.  "Steve, open your present now."

The lumpy package turned out to be a long piece of metal.

"...what is it?" asked Mackenzie after a moment of everyone staring at it.

"It's the clanger from the Liberty Bell."

"...what?" repeated Aria.

"Y'know, the clanger!  The part inside the bell!  I bought the clanger!" said Tony with a pleased grin.  "...that's what it's called, right? The clanger?"

"...clapper," said Aria, staring.  "You bought the Liberty Bell's clapper?"

"Yeah!  It doesn't ring anymore so they didn't need it.  I tried to get the whole bell, but they wouldn't sell it to me.  Do you like it? It's a good gift, right?" asked Tony, beaming.

Everyone stared at it.

"It's certainly one of a kind," said Mackenzie.

"Very unique," agreed Aria.

They all sat around the table, Aria and three SHIELD agents and Tony and Steve.  Tony was in a good mood despite yesterday's foiled lodge plans; he hadn't had anything like this for a long, long time.

For dinner they had a turkey and stuffing and the whole she-bang. Aria and Mackenzie had cooked it and appeared to be getting rather chummy. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit; maybe it was something else.

"Don't like the pudding?" Aria grinned at Sitwell over the table that night as they all sat around with bowls of pre-bought pudding.

Sitwell grimaced. "I don't like raisins."

"You really are no fun," Mackenzie sighed but there was no bite to his words.

"It's almost like having a family, huh?" he said, grinning at the group gathered around the table.  "We should go sit in front of the fireplace and read _The Night Before Christmas_.  Steve, you had that in your time, right?"

"Pretty sure it was published in the 1800s," said Phil.

"Great!  We'll end on a note of familiarity for Steve," said Tony.

His enthusiasm was infectious; he dragged everyone toward the fireplace and sat them down.  Aria and Phil opted for hot cocoa; Sitwell and Mackenzie both accepted Tony's offer of alcohol.

A glass of wine in his hand, Tony stood in front of the fire with a tablet, pulling up the story.  The living room was dark except for the fireplace. The fire cast long shadows. The orchids stood silently; everyone looked happy, curled onto the couch.  Tony, always a showboat, insisted on standing in front of them to read the story, but he'd been drinking through dinner and parts of it were a bit slurred.

" _\--on Dasher, on Dancer, on Donner and Blitzen!_ " he read dramatically, holding his wine.  " _On Comet, on Cupid, on Richard M. Nixon!"_

Coulson and Sitwell both burst into laughter.  Phil actually looked like he was going to start crying; he was wheezing a little with mirth.  Steve had never seen him laugh that hard.

Tony was grinning but also looked confused.

"...you... you actually thought one of the reindeer was named Nixon?" asked Mackenzie, sniggering.

"That's how Dad always read it," said Tony, looking down at the tablet and squinting at the text.

Phil gripped his sides, laughing even harder at the idea of Howard Stark reading _The Night Before Christmas._

"Which one is Nixon?" Steve asked, feeling a little loss with his cup of eggnog. Aria patted his arm.

"A president. Wasn't super popular."

"Are they ever?" Phil pointed out, still wheezing with amusement

Regardless, Steve thought the story was sweet. Or at least, watching Tony read it was sweet. He looked happy. Steve couldn't remember seeing him this happy in front of this many people before. Maybe it was their heat. Maybe it was christmas. Who knew?

The drink made Tony fall asleep quickly that night. Steve took him up to bed then came back downstairs to chat with Aria about jobs that had come up. She had offered to arrange for the omega rights people to come up on New Year's Eve. They wouldn't pass up a chance to attend an infamous Stark party and Steve was sure that they could find plenty of time to chat, especially when everyone was staying till at least midnight. Then if more serious talks needed to follow they would follow.

Aria was in pajamas when he came down and was nursing a glass of red wine. It was small and it had stained her lips a faint purple.

"Oooh and this guy wants to do edgy pre-heat interviews next time you, _you know._...obviously that will be ages away but it's kind of a big deal, breaking through the stereotype and all that. It'll be filmed too. Made into a proper documentary I think."

"Sounds good," Steve hummed as he flopped back onto the sofa opposite her. He stared up at the ceiling. He appreciated that Aria was younger. Pepper was in her thirties, but Aria was twenty-eight. They were supposedly at similar points in their lives. "Sorry you er...ended up spending Christmas here."

"It's cool," Aria assured him. "It's been interesting, anyhow. Definitely a story to tell the grandkids." She smiled over at him, a twinkle in her eye. Steve laughed softly. "Seriously though.  Are you feeling okay? Especially after you went a little crazy over that coffee mug yesterday?"

"Yeah," Steve sighed. "S'nothing new. It's fine."

"You said it was a flashback."

"Just, you know...the morning after. Bucky had brought a girl home. I'd been in heat- sort of. I was upset with him so I threw cocoa at him and then locked myself in the bathroom. Hence, coffee cup."

"Huh," Aria said. "That sucks."

Sometimes she just knew exactly what to say.

Steve had gotten her new eyeliner pencils for christmas.  She always wore strange colors, which had taken Steve some getting used to.  But now he liked seeing the purple and pink and bright red around her eyes.  He'd made sure the makeup was  'vegan' (not tested on animals).  There were little flecks of glitter in them; Natasha had helped him find them, and Aria had been delighted.

She hadn't forgotten about Steve, either; she'd gotten him a giant jar of marshmallow fluff. (She knew the way to Steve's heart.  The jar was already a quarter gone.)

"So...you and Mackenzie seem to be getting on well," he prompted with a sly grin.

Aria threw a cushion at him.  The two laughed.

Then Aria went quiet. "You know, if he was so shitty...why did you keep a picture of him on your fridge, Steve?"

Steve swallowed. There was a pregnant pause. "Not everything he did was shit. It's just...it's easier to be mad at him, you know? Otherwise I miss him and... that don't do me no good."

"No," Aria murmured and stared down at her phone in her hands. "It don't.  Doesn't."

She waited until Steve had gone off to bed to text Pepper.  It was late enough that she wasn't really expecting an answer, although she got one almost immediately.

_ > Ginny. I have to know. If Steve wasn't in the equation... would you go there? _

_ > I don't know, Aria.  Merry Christmas. _


	24. Tiberius Stone

Tony woke the morning after Christmas to a faint hangover and Steve's warm body pressed into his.  He wiggled up to the blond and bit the back of his neck softly, fitting his teeth into the scar he'd left, closing his eyes and savoring the familiarity.

He was determined not to let having the SHIELD agents hovering around to deter him from throwing his usual out-of-control party.  Over the next few days, it was not uncommon to come across Tony yelling into the phone to caterers or lighting staff or security or a bar tending service.  Clearly he was trying to pick up some of Pepper's slack.

He had even been getting up before noon, a rarity for him.

Tony walked into the kitchen on the 29th at nine-thirty, for example, stretching in his robe.  He pulled open the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, drinking it. Aria frowned.

"Jeff is pretty busy with the babies, but he's willing to send his Alpha to the party," Aria had been reporting to Steve over breakfast.  "Banksy wants to come, and of course he's welcome, everyone loves him... Stone can come, too. Though as I mentioned, he's also available to meet with you beforehand, on the thirtieth.  There's going to be a few reporters from Time magazine and the Associated Press, but it'll mostly be Tony's pals... I already asked Irshad on your behalf but she's at a summit hearing in Geneva all week.  She wishes us happy holidays, though."

"He can come around on the thirtieth if he wants," Steve said, figuring he'd have nothing better to do. "Nat and Clint have said they can come too, right?" He checked and Aria nodded. He missed them. He hadn't seen his friends in a while, because of the heat and Christmas and house arrest...

"Yep. And so is Sam. Fury says he doesn't _do_ parties, whatever that means."

“Aw,” said Steve, frowning.

“You invited Fury?  _Seriously_?” said Tony, staring at Steve incredulously, lowering the carton of juice.  Steve gave a sheepish shrug.

"Good news though!" Phil piped up as he walked in. He looked a new man, in a neatly pressed suit and his hair neat. He held a coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other (Phil's staples) and looked about ready to lead a conference. He was worlds away from the man who'd built a teepee out of sofa cushions. "If we go without incident into the new year, our captain is a free man. No more being stuck in the house."

Steve let out a sigh of relief and leaned his head on the countertop. "Oh, boy. _Thank you_. I'm gonna go stir crazy, I swear."

Sure, the house was huge, but Steve was someone who liked to be on the move. He hadn't been on one of his signature miles and miles long runs in far too long. He was itching to get back out there and sprint along the beech.

Aria looked over at Tony, her eyes narrowing a little. "Do you have an artist booked yet?"

"An artist?  What kind of artist?  Cake artist? Floral arrangers?  Ice sculptors?" asked Tony, cocking his head.  Lately Aria had seemed a bit stand-offish. He wasn't sure why.  She was hard to read.

"A singer type of artist. Last I remember you guys were yelling about Pitbull. Because if you still need someone I might have something, I just wondered...you know," Aria said, not looking at him as she tapped away on her phone, replying to all of Steve's emails.

Tony’s hackles went up.  “Yeah. Book literally anyone other than Pitbull,” he instructed her.  He walked over to ruffle Steve's hair, still holding the carton of juice.  Phil's nose wrinkled at the idea of Tony drinking straight out of it.

"Of course, SHIELD wants you under observation for your future heats, until we can confirm your safety.  Sorry, Agent Rogers. I've requested to be assigned to that detail. Thought it might be a little less embarrassing for you if it were me."

"Excited about the party, Phil?" asked Tony.

Phil frowned.  "Let's try to keep it a little tighter than your birthday, shall we?"

"Shouldn't be a problem.  You're one of the tightest people I know," said Tony with a grin.

"Thank you Phil," Steve offered him a tender smile. "I really appreciate it. Seriously."

Phil offered him a small nod in return.

The days passed quickly. Aria sorted out music for the party (she was keeping it a surprise) and Tony seemed to be busying himself with the rest of it. Steve did a lot of sleeping and a lot of drawing but none of it on his walls. He kept the drawings in one of his sketch books. Some of them were personal.

Steve woke up to Aria telling him Stone was on his way on the thirtieth, and quickly got up to shower, dressing more presentably than he had since his heat.

Tony grunted from their bed. He'd been up late in his workshop. Steve walked over to kiss his forehead. "It's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to get up."

"I'll get up in maybe thirty minutes," mumbled Tony sleepily.  "Can you make me coffee, Stevie? That'd be great." He stifled a yawn.  "I'll come down... bacon, too, make some bacon... love you." He rolled onto his stomach, dangling an arm over the side of the bed.

Downstairs, Aria had opened the back windows to smoke and she was pacing in a zig-zag, stepping around the orchids and the two staff that were attempting to arrange them to clear space for the party.  "Good morning, Steve," she said with a smile. "...Mac and Sitwell just stepped out to make a report. You look great."

Coulson looked up from the couch.  "Morning. I made coffee," he greeted Steve.  "Natasha just e-mailed me. She and Clint were delayed but said they'll be in for the party tomorrow, no later than six.  ...did Tony have another late night?"

Strictly speaking, Tony was not supposed to be down in his shop, not while there was any chance of either of them being compromised.  But as usual, Tony had ignored the rules and slipped down there frequently and everyone had given up trying to stop him. His hours had resumed their usual, bizarre schedule.

"It was just a few hours," Steve tried to assure Phil as he accepted his coffee. But they both knew it had been at least eight. Tony was addictive in nature. Once he had an itch he had to scratch it. Steve remembered when he once hit the thirty six hour mark and he had to literally drag him out and make him eat food.

"Virginia's going to be in by eleven and wants to speak with him privately before the event," said Aria succinctly.

"Sounds serious," Phil commented but his tone was mostly teasing.

Steve frowned a little and stepped up to Aria. "Is Pepper mad at me? Did I do something to upset her?" He knew he two were close. If he'd done something Aria would know about it.

"Why would you ask that?"

"She's just been ignoring my texts, that's all," Steve murmured. They would talk quite a bit, usually. Pepper had his dry sense of humour and would often tell him funny old stories about Tony. It was nice. Or it had been...

Aria patted his arm a little awkwardly. "It's not you."

It was Steve's turn to frown. "What? If she's had a fight with Tony I get ignored too? That doesn't sound like her."

"Steve." Aria sighed. "It's nothing. Drop it." She turned away, tapping on her phone.

_ > Steve thinks you're mad at him. _

_ > I'll handle it.  After I talk to Tony, everything will be fine. _

_ > Well, I got your favorite wine in, just for you. I'll be ready and waiting. _

Steve dropped it, only because he needed to have breakfast and didn’t have time to try to get any info out of Aria at the moment.  As a rule he tried not to eat in front of mixed company; especially in the morning, his metabolism drove him to consume large amounts quickly, and it was often not very pretty.

"Captain.  Mr. Stone has arrived," reported JARVIS at precisely nine-thirty.  Steve had just finished polishing off a carton of eggs and a half-package of turkey bacon.  "...and Mr. Stark requests bacon. He has advised me to warn you that he might be suffering from starvation."

Aria rolled her eyes.

"I'll get it," said Phil, rising.  He scooted past one of the maids, moving aside a couple of potted orchids, and went to open the door.  Outside it was a gorgeous day, bright and sunny and mild, with little wind. A Benz had pulled up to the drive and a man was getting out.  He held up a hand in greeting and Phil did the same.

"Mr. Stone.  Mr. Phil Coulson," Phil introduced himself, smoothing down his tie.  "It's an honor, I'm very much a supporter of Status Alliance. ...sorry for the mess, we're preparing for a party tomorrow..."

"Of course.  One of the famous Stark New Year parties," said Stone, casting a glance around the large, airy living room, still half-buried in orchids.  Stone was a tall man, clean-shaved, who wore a pair of stylish square glasses. His suit was cream-colored and matched with a silk navy tie. But it wasn't his style that Steve noticed, or even his face, which was conventionally quite attractive.  It was his smell. He smelled completely and utterly _wrong_.  He was an omega but it wasn't clear at all what his status was, whether he was a strong or a meek omega, where in his cycle he was.  It was like trying to describe a beta's smell, or the taste of water, or the color of air. His smell was like a shadow, sinister, suggestive, unsettling.  An extremely distorted version of reality. It wasn't sinister, just uncanny, unfamiliar. Like a glass eye.

Stone caught Steve's eye and smiled.  "So here's Captain Steve Rogers! A pleasure to finally meet you, and congratulations on coming out... you've shaken things up and I couldn't be happier for it."  He stepped around an orchid. "...hell, are these all yours? There must be a thousand."

"Nine hundred and eight-four," reported JARVIS automatically.  "Excluding the one Mr. Stark smashed over your head last week."

Stone stared at Steve with a look of alarm.

"It was an accident," Steve said with a gentle laugh as he took the offered hand, making sure not to squeeze too tightly as he shook back. Stone appeared to believe him. Or at least, he knew not to press further. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, sir; I've heard a lot about you."

"All bad I hope," Stone smiled. "I heard you're intending to auction all these off? What a clever thing to do. Bet you can't wait to get rid of them."

"Oh, you have no idea," Steve breathed, shaking his head. He couldn't count how many times he'd nearly tripped down the stairs because of them and he was hardly a clumsy person.

"There's coffee for you in the living room," Aria called out to them, waving them off not-so-subtly.

Steve wanted to ask Stone what it was, why he smelt _different_. He'd met hundreds of people from all across the world and he'd never smelt anything like of it.  But Stone was part of Status Alliance; he could only be an omega, surely?

Steve wasn't sure he liked it, but Stone himself seemed incredibly friendly.

"Tony's still in bed, I'm afraid, but he should be down within the hour..."

"Well, I didn't come here to see him Captain. Just you. But, of course, I will be happy to say hello," Stone said with a polite smile as he took a seat. Steve sat opposite him. It was strange. He was almost expecting Stone to reach over and take his hand and talk about his feelings. There was something big brotherly about him.  Yet the overwhelming creepiness of his smell made all of the hair on Steve’s arms and neck stand up.

"Right, yes. Of course," Steve said, not entirely sure how to reply to that.

"Creamer?" asked Phil, walking in and offering him a cup of coffee.  He had a cup for himself and a cup for Steve, too. He'd already put in cream for Steve, knowing he preferred it on the sweet side.  
  
"Oh, no, thank you, I take it black... sit with us, Mr. Coulson, please--"   
  
"Phil's fine," said Phil, sitting down next to Steve.  He seemed to pick up on the weird smell, too.   
  
"Danielle was extremely impressed with your performance on Banksy and Boswell.  You know, Tommy's been a member of SA for years now," said Stone, blowing gently on his coffee to cool it.   
  
"I heard they want to give him his own show," said Phil.   
  
"Well, I'll believe it when I see it," said Stone with a frown.  "That network isn't particularly known for being progressive, and Tommy says that--"   
  
"Steve!"   
  
The three of them looked over; Tony was descending the stairs in his silk dressing gown, hair a mess.   
  
"I thought I said I wanted breakfast, where the hell's my bacon?" asked Tony, stretching sleepily.  He squinted at Stone in confusion. "...did SHIELD send over another agent? Oh my God," he grumbled.   
  
"Hello, Tony," said Stone coldly.   
  
There was a pause.  Tony's expression changed from one of bored bleariness into one of clarity, and he stared, blinking, at Stone.   
  
"... _Ty_ ?"   
  
Tony bounded down the rest of the stairs, strode over, and embraced Stone.  Stone didn't get up or hug him back; he sat stiffly, and Tony pulled away quickly.  Not just because of the awkward reception but because Ty's smell was... well, not repulsive, exactly.  Off-putting.   
  
"Oh my God, Steve... Steve, this guy, I went to school with this guy!  We went to Philips Academy together, back in the eighties, holy shit!" Tony laughed, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.  He dropped onto the couch on Steve's other side and reached out for Steve's cup of coffee. "Wow, oh man... I can't believe it... it's been, like, what, twenty-six years or something?"  He winced a little at Steve's coffee. "Steve, is there any coffee in this creamer?" he asked jokingly. He turned back to Stone. "Ty, what happened, how've you been?"   
  
Stone stared at him stonily.  "Well. I've been heavily involved in omega rights.  Been in Status Alliance since ninety-one, raising awareness of the cruelty of conversion camps.  Gave testimony in the '94 case, trying to get them banned. Still legal in sixteen states, you know.  Helps that I have some first-hand experience. And now I'm on the board." He took a sip of coffee.   
  
"The '94 case?" repeated Tony.  His brain reeled back to '94, what the hell had he been doing in '94?  He would have been 24, which meant he was probably snorting cocaine and having orgies and crashing Lamborghinis into the fountains in front of Caesar's Palace.

Steve looked back and forth between them.  It was _awkward_. Like really, really _awkward_.

Steve remembered the story about Ty. Of all of the stories from Tony's childhood that one stuck with him, how could it not? It was a sinister thought. A camp made to change an omega into something else. Whatever did they do to him there to make him smell so strange? Steve felt an odd shiver run down his spine. He wanted to know but he also knew he had no real right to ask.

There wasn't camps in the forties that he knew of. An omega was an omega and that was that. There was barely any consideration given into the prospect of changing them. After all they were not proper people; they weren't _whole_. No camp could fix that. And Steve had even been shit at being a forties omega. He was very glad now, in hindsight. Things would have gone very differently if he'd had children...if he'd somehow even managed to survive it.   
  
"Yes.  ...of course, I know you were busy... running Stark Industries,” said Stone, voice dripping with annoyance.   
  
Tony stared at him in confusion.  Was that a hint of sarcasm? It was too early in the morning to bristle.  Tony sipped Steve's coffee and winced again.   
  
"Steve, can you go get me a real cup of coffee?" asked Tony, setting down the mug.

"I do believe you're capable of getting your own coffee, Tony," Ty breathed, his gaze darkening a fraction. This was an omega rights discussion; an Alpha wasn't welcome, certainly not within the first five minutes of it.

There was a beat of quiet.

"I'm sorry," Steve breathed. "I don't know about the ‘94 case. I'm still catching up." He honestly said something just to start up conversation again. He didn't like the way Stone looked at Tony. He saw too much of himself in that look.  The part of him that hated Tony’s drinking and the way he casually, arrogantly ordered others around.

"It wasn't pretty," Phil whispered.

"An omega boy killed himself in one of the camps," Stone said flatly. "He was fourteen years old.  They raided the camp and found a lot of instances of illegitimate surgical procedures and unlicensed practitioners.”

"Jesus," Steve muttered and ran a hand over his face. "Did you say sixteen?"

"Yes. They're still legal in sixteen states."

"And they're popular?"

"Relatively."

Steve's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Do you think I could go visit one?"

"That would be very confrontational," Phil pointed out.

Steve smiled a sly kind of smile. "I like being confrontational."

Stone smiled back.  "An omega after my own heart," he said, sounding extremely pleased with Steve's response.

Tony reached out and put a hand on Steve's knee, not moving.  He gave Steve a worried look.

"But, other than... _that._.. you've been okay, right, Tiberius?" prompted Tony.

"Weren't you going to get coffee?" he asked.

"We're still friends, right?"

Stone barked out a laugh.  "Friends? We were never friends.  We sat together at lunch because we didn't have anyone else and when I disappeared I doubt you blinked an eye.  I've kept up with _you_ , for what it's worth.  Yes, life's been wonderful for _you_ , hasn't it, Stark?  Nothing but the best for an Alpha."

"Hey, c'mon, man, I was a POW," protested Tony weakly, tapping his chest.  "...and I wasn't even enlisted!"

"Four and a half years," hissed Tiberius.  " _Four and a half years_ , Tony.  If we were _friends_ , then you should have done something.  _You should have done something_!"

"What was I supposed to do?" demanded Tony, voice rising.  " _I was fourteen years old_ , Ty!"

"And what about when you were twenty, or thirty, or thirty-five?  What did you do then, huh? Throw lavish parties and release sex tapes and see how many bunnies you could fit into one Jacuzzi?"

"Twenty-five," intoned JARVIS.

A silence settled over them.  Tony gave Steve's knee a squeeze and then rose to get himself coffee, not knowing what else to say.  He'd thought he had enough to be guilty about, what with the whole weapons thing. Now omega rights, too?  Fuck.

In the kitchen, he poured himself a cup and threw in a couple of shots of Drambouie, settling down onto a stool and pressing his forehead against the coolness of the marble, taking slow, shallow breaths to calm himself.

Aria watched him curiously, still tapping away at her tablet without looking. "Pepper's getting in at 11, by the way. She wants to talk to you." She looked back down at her screen, lips pressed together in a thin line.

She didn't look Tony in the eye much these days. Truly, Aria was too scared that she might say something she shouldn't. This was Pepper's problem, not hers, and she knew she should stay out of it.

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” asked Tony suspiciously, looking toward the direction of the living room.  “What a crap Alpha I am?”

“You know, Tony, people talk about things other than _you_ ,” said Aria. 

Tony looked shocked and offended at the suggestion.

Aria was right, of course.  In the living room, the three omegas were discussing the conversion camps, because Steve had never heard of anything like it and wanted to know more.

"They're mostly in the south now," Phil explained to him, unperturbed by Tony and Ty's mini-fight. "The south are always playing catch up, I’ve found. I've never been in one myself. It’s generally outside of SHIELD’s jurisdiction.  I don't really know what they do to someone in there; they’re fairly hush-hush about their methods. They were a lot more medieval back in the eighties and nineties. I assume they no longer resort to surgical intervention, but again, I don’t really know what they do."

"They try and take away everything that makes you who you are," Ty said quietly. "But that's not what we came here to talk about today. Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," Steve assured him. He could feel Tony's own guilt pang in his chest and he felt bad for his mate. Ty did have a point, however. He wasn't blaming Tony solely, he was just making the point that no one did anything. All it would have taken was one person and he could have gotten out sooner.

Steve distantly thought of Bucky and how mad he was at him for just mating him to protect him. And yet, he was weirdly grateful in a fucked up way too.

"Do we... know how many of those camps are still left?" Steve asked tentatively.

"Eight-four.  There were eight-six last at the beginning of last year," said Tiberius, smoothing down his tie.  "There's estimated to be about two thousands kids still getting shipped off each year. Sounds bad, but it peaked back in the eighties and nineties.  Since they banned arranged bonding, a lot of Alpha and beta parents were left with an omega they didn't know what to do with. So they tried to... _fix_ them."  He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck in the same way Steve often saw Tony do when he was stressed out.

"I'm sorry," said Phil quietly.

"Don't be.  I got out and my experiences are helping me to help others."

"...do you mind my asking... did your camp get closed?" asked Phil.

"I was at Pine Hills," said Tiberius, and Phil looked horrified.

It took him a moment to realize that Steve was still behind on the times.  "Pine Hills was the one involved in the '94 case. They were..."

"-- _cutting edge_ ," interrupted Tiberius.  "That's what the brochure said.  Only the absolute latest and greatest techniques.  Psychotherapy, hypnotherapy, hormone therapy... if you name a chemical, they probably injected it into someone.  And did you know they pioneered the modern arvicolinectomy?"

"I'm so sorry," repeated Phil.  He looked at Steve, then back to Tiberius.  "...Steve was born a century ago," he said by way of explanation.

"The arvicolina is the bonding gland at the back of your neck," explained Tiberius succinctly.

Steve almost felt the need to reach up and trace the mark on the back of his neck that Tony had left. He watched Stone's gaze drift over to the kitchen and then back to him. He swallowed. He couldn't imagine it noting being there...it was an integral part of him.

"But I didn't come here to relive that.  Pine Hills closed its doors in '94 and good riddance.  I'm here to talk about the future with you, Steve. Status Alliance wants you to join us and we'd, in turn, like to join you.  We think your charity is a great step, but we think your voice is going to benefit omegas even more. You represent something we'd wish more people would see.  A strong, independent omega who makes his own decisions and contributes to a society who respects him." He frowned a little and glanced toward the kitchen, where Tony had disappeared to. 

"Alphas aren't judged by their omegas. Please don't judge me my mate, Stone," Steve said softly in request and Ty seemed to gather himself a little, no longer frowning. Even if he disapproved of Tony, it was frankly none of his business. If he knew what Steve did for SHIELD he would probably disapprove of that too- but he didn't.

Status Alliance was certainly more Steve's style than the Horseshoe Society, but he didn't want to alienate any potential allies by picking a side. He sighed quietly and ran a hand over his face.

"I know you have a lot of issues with the Horseshoe Society," Steve said and Ty hummed noncommittally. "But if we don't present a united front we're never going to win this fight. As long as we're divided then it's easier for people to ignore or dismiss us. I'm not asking you to play nice. I'm just asking you to be open to reason. The Horseshoe Society are just trying their best, as are you."

The edge of Ty's lips twitched. "I see why they say you were good at speeches, Captain."

Steve almost blushed. "I'm just bein’ honest..."

"Unfortunately, it's rather difficult for us to _play nice,_ as you put it, with the Society.  We appreciate them as the first society to care for omega rights and we appreciate their getting us the vote, but nowadays, they don't do much at all.  Their head councilman is a houseomega."

"If we stop listening to omegas who decide to be housewives than you're going to cut off about sixty percent of them," Steve pointed out calmly. "I'm a soldier. I have nothing in common with people who lead domestic lives but I don't think judging them by it will help us much, Tiberius."

"Jeff just had twins," said Phil.  “I’m sure once things have settled down a little for him, he’ll be more active in the movement.”

"Twins?  ...see? Houseomega," said Tiberius, with a wrinkle of his nose.  "Our members joined Status Alliance because it's a safe space for them.  We don't allow Alphas to the meetings and it's better for us that way. They don't understand.  If they respect us then they'll respect that. We'd be happy to work with the Society but, what are we supposed to tell people when Alphas start showing up, huh?  'Take your suppressants and try not to smell too desirable _?'"_

"If you want an safe space for omegas, I can negotiate that. But you can't go into this with a biased against them. Deciding to stay at home is a fine choice for anyone to make so long as it's just that, a _choice._ The issue is when it it isn't their choice. But considering Jeff's position, I dare say his situation is."

Phil gave Steve a look that said, _This is probably a bad time to mention that Jeff is sending his Alpha to the New Year's party._

Before Tiberius could respond, the front door slammed open and Pepper and Happy walked in.

"Hi, Steve, Phil," said Pepper breathlessly, arms full of notes. 

"Hey Pepper," Steve said, perking up instantly at the sight of them. She didn't seem mad at him, right? Maybe Aria had been right. Maybe he was just paranoid.

"Who's this?"

"Tiberius Stone," said Phil.  "Head of Status Alliance. Tony's in the kitchen, probably on his second White Russian by now."  He realized what he'd said and added, "Sorry, Steve."

Steve sighed. "It's not your fault.  Do you guys need any help bringing stuff in?"

"No, no, Happy's got it," Pepper reassured him.  "I'm going to go talk to Tony... about the party.  Is Aria upstairs or out back? ...oh, hi, Agent Sitwell."

"Aria's in the kitchen I think," Steve filled in for her.

Sitwell breezed in with a phone pressed to his ear.  "The Department of Defense is on the phone and we absolutely cannot allow this party.  Just because Tony is friends with Colonel Rhodes doesn't mean he can--"

"--good to be back, thanks," said Pepper, grabbing the phone.  "Hello, this is Virginia Potts-- oh, hi, General Ross, how are you?  Did you get our Christmas card?" She waved Sitwell away and stalked off toward the kitchen.

"Why do I bother..." Sitwell muttered to himself and went to step outside, pulling out a packet of cigarettes despite the fact that he'd 'quit'. The stress of Captain America being temporarily possessed by a HYDRA assassin apparently wasn't doing him any good. It was fair enough really.

Happy watched Pepper go admiringly, clearly impressed by her usual unflappability and command of the situation, and then sat on the sofa next to Tiberius.  As a beta, there was nothing at all amiss about Stone, not in the slightest. The eerie smell that clung to him was one only Alphas and omegas could sense, and Steve supposed he was lucky, in that regard, because no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it really was grotesque.  Like talking to someone who had a disfiguring birthmark or something on their face.

"So, what are you guys talking about?" asked Happy pleasantly.

"Omega rights," said Tiberius with a pointed look.

Happy didn't take the hint.  "Oh, great! What about 'em?"

"This is Happy," Steve decided to introduce him. "Tony's driver."

"Not yours?" Ty asked, raising a brow. Steve frowned a little.

"I prefer to take my bike."

Stone just hummed. Steve was feeling judged again. Was this just how Ty was, or was this actually because of Tony? Because if it was, that wasn't exactly fair on him.

"Stone was just telling us about the conversion camps," Phil said to Happy patiently. "About how they're still an issue. And incredibly un-humanitarian."

Happy frowned deeply. "I've heard about them. They sound awful."

"Really.  No use dwelling on it.  Steve, listen. You don't have to sign up or anything like that.  But we'd love if we could borrow you for an ad campaign to encourage membership.  It would really drive a lot of money our way and help us out. You don't have to say yes now; just think about it," said Tiberius.  "Those pictures of you in _Time_ , they were great.  Provocative, sexy, powerful... slap an SA logo on that and we could probably double membership."

"How much is membership?" asked Happy curiously.

"SA is for omegas only," said Tiberius, looking annoyed at Happy's hovering.

"Oh.  What do I do if I want to help donate to conversion camps?"

"You mean to end them," clarified Phil, looking like he was on the verge of putting his face into his hands.

"Don't send your kid to one," said Tiberius darkly.

In the kitchen, Tony was nursing a Screwdriver; his eyes lit up when he heard the familiar tap of stilettos.

"Pepper!"

"Mr. Stark," she greeted him coldly.

"...what'd I do?"

"You know what you did."

"No, seriously, I have no idea.  What'd I do?" repeated Tony. "Is this about Ty?"

Pepper's brow furrowed.  "Ty? You mean Tiberius? You know him?"

"Oh, boy, geez, yeah.  We went to school together," said Tony.

Pepper looked surprised; she deposited her papers onto the broken countertop.  "What do you mean? Tiberius Stone went to school at Pine Hills."

"Naw, he was at Philips before that," said Tony.  "We ate lunch together, then I came back from break and he was just... gone.  I mean, I heard he went to a camp or something, but I thought, like, y'know... some weird hippie commune or something."

Pepper gave Tony a pained look.  "No... no, Pine Hills was... it was bad, Tony."

"Yeah, no, he was pretty clear about that," said Tony, tossing back his drink.  He reached for more vodka and orange juice. "So why are you mad at me again?"

Pepper let out a sigh.  She reached over and pulled the bottle of vodka away from him.

"Tony.  Your actions last week were extremely inappropriate.  First of all, you can't kiss people without asking their permission.  Second of all, we are co-workers and our financial entanglements means any sort of romantic relationship would be highly inappropriate.  Third, and most importantly, _you are in a monogamous relationship with Steve._ Tony, I like Steve, and I respect him, and I assume you do, too.  I'm going to assume that when you tried to kiss me, that was a mistake.  But I don't ever, _ever_ want it repeated.  If you understand, then we can pretend this never happened and let it go, okay?  But Tony, Steve deserves better than that. He's a friend to me, as much as you are, and I'm not going to sit idly by and watch you break his heart because you think you can get away with it."

Tony stared at her for a moment.  "...are you done with that vodka?" he asked finally, reaching for the bottle her hand was on.

"Do you understand me, Tony?"

"Yeah.  Vodka, please?"

"Tony.  You know you're bonded and that's a very big commitment?"

"Yeah but I've been really good for like, over half a year..." said Tony meekly, pulling the bottle over.

"And I'm proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"...see how I'm not leaning in for a kiss right now?" joked Tony weakly, pouring a few shots of vodka into his orange juice.

Pepper forced a sad smile.  "Yeah, I see. Good job. ...please don't get drunk before noon."

"I'm already pretty tipsy.  Gonna be honest with you, seeing Ty... his smell's all fucked up, Pep."  He lowered his voice. "He smells... I don't know how to describe it to a beta, he just smells fucked up, okay?"

"Yes, well, considering he underwent nearly five years of experimental chemical treatments and an arvicolinectomy, I don't doubt it."

"An RC Cola-ectomy?" repeated Tony, confused.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose.  "Arvicolinectomy. They cut out the arvicolina."

"The hell's that?"

"The bonding gland, Tony."

Tony's hackles rose automatically.  "Oh." He abandoned the orange juice and threw back the bottle of vodka.

Pepper reached out and swatted his hand.  "Tony, stop it. You're not doing anyone any favors by getting yourself drunk before noon the day before your New Year's party."

"--what if that were Steve?" blurted Tony.

"Well, they didn't have that procedure in his day," said Pepper patiently.  "Steve is fine, Tony, and so is Tiberius. He's a very big name in omega rights now, which you'd know if you ever bothered to read anything other than stocks and tech news.  What's done is done, okay? We don't cry over spilled milk in this house. Now pull yourself together and go take a nap. I'm going to need your signature on about half of these forms."  She gestured to the stack of papers before them.

"Pepper, I wanna kiss you again."

"Don't," she advised.

In the living room, Steve, Happy, Phil, and Tiberius were still chatting.  He doubted he could agree to join an organization like Status Alliance (SHIELD would throw a fit, to say nothing of Aria), but Tiberius’s suggestion of a commercial sounded simple enough.

"I could do something like that, I think," Steve said.  “An ad campaign sounds swell.” Working _with_ them and _for_ them were very different things, and he didn't want to alienate himself from the Horseshoe Society entirely. But then he also wasn't really sure he was their style, being a soldier and all that. But then, Steve liked Danielle too...maybe he was biased. "But I'd need to talk to Aria about it. She has all my dates down, and everything."

Ty nodded with a small smile. "Of course. I was surprised that you got a beta PA, Captain, I have to admit."

"Both her parents were omegas. She understands," Steve said quietly and his eyes flitted out to the kitchen briefly where he could hear Aria talking with Pepper.  Enhanced hearing and all that. He couldn't catch words, just their voices, but that was more than Coulson and Happy would be aware of. "What if… when we auctioned off all the flowers, we used that to create some kind of hostel where kids from camps could go to. I'm sure the problem for a lot of them is there's little alternative. If your parents sent you there then going back home wouldn't provide a solution."

Steve thought about Phil's story and something warmed in his chest. About him just getting in a car and leaving. Steve had never been that brave with Bucky, or he'd been too in love with him. Either way, he suffered petulantly, rather than just getting up and getting out.

"You'd have to have multiple hostels," Phil pointed out. "That's too many kids to fit in one place. And they're scattered all over. Would be hard to make a single hostel accessible to everyone."

"It would be tricky, legally.  The camps are all for underage kids.  I feel like offering a safe haven for underage omegas is setting ourselves up for a lot of lawsuits saying we're kidnapping them or something," said Tiberius thoughtfully. 

"If they run away, you just have open doors… then it's not kidnapping," Steve pointed out.

"...mind you, I like the idea.  There are a lot of omega runaways, too."

"Right, but you'd still need more than one," said Phil.

"It's not like you haven't got the money to fund it," said Tiberius, gesturing around the lavish living room.  "Stark fancies himself a philanthropist. Let him put his money where his mouth is. I think it's a fantastic idea, if we can get the funding and the legal protection.  ... _if_."

"If," echoed Phil.

"When's the auction planned for?" asked Tiberius, looking around at all the orchids.

"Steve and Tony's anniversary," butted in Phil.  "At least, that's what Aria said, last I talked to her.  First week of June."

Tiberius's nose wrinkled a little.  Even in Steve's time, there were lots of wives' tales about bonding and marriage.  June brides and bonds were considered lucky; if it rained on your bonding day, then your omega was going to be cursed with nothing but girls.  You were supposed to marry when the hands of a clock were going up and bond when the moon was waxing to ensure prosperity. If you bonding while it was waning, you'd be cursed to poverty.  "June brides" and "June omegas" were still enough of a fad for the vast majority of pairs to bond according to the tradition.

Steve doubted Tony had been thinking of that and also doubted he'd known the phases of the moon when they had bonded.

"Is there something wrong with June?"  Steve asked, ready to defend himself.

Ty waved a hand.  "No, no, June's fine.  The one-year anniversary would certainly have the most impact.  Let me touch base with the others and we can get together and see about getting this thing off the ground.  It would be good for the kids to have somewhere to go."

Phil gave one of his rare smiles and Steve knew what he was thinking of.  His own escape, if you could call it that.

Steve smiled back and something tingled in his chest. Phil was the first face he was when he woke up and now they'd suffered through a heat sort of together it felt like they were closer. It felt like they were good friends.

Speaking of friends...

Tony slunk out of the kitchen toward the main stairs.  Ty’s eyes narrowed and he followed the other man’s movements.  Ty's scent hit Tony all over again when he walked into the room and it turned his stomach.  He slipped upstairs without a word, not wanting to talk to any of them, worried he'd just end up sticking his foot in his mouth again or blurt something out to Ty that would lead to another confrontation.  He’d had enough confrontations for the day; the talk with Pepper in the kitchen had certainly taken the wind out of his sails.

"Jesus. I'm gonna kill that man," Aria sighed as Tony left the kitchen, rubbing her temples. "I didn't hear all that. Just the end of it. Sorry. I didn't realise you'd gotten here." It was hard to know if it really was an 'accident' with Aria. She liked being in control of things; it wouldn't be unusual for her to eavesdrop. "I was Googling it though," she continued before Pepper could be annoyed about being overheard. "And apparently post-heat Alphas can go a little coo-coo. Not that that's an excuse but, you know.  Hopefully he won’t pull any more shit like that.”

“Well, he’s a pig, but he’s a smart pig.  If he does anything like that again, I’m out,” said Pepper simply.  “He knows I don’t bluff.”

"Which I love about you,” said Aria.  “And… as promised." Her eyes twinkled as she placed a bottle of wine in front of Pepper. It was from a vineyard in the south of France. They only made around 500 bottles a year.

Pepper's eyes crinkled in a smile.  "You know how to treat a girl," she said, accepting the wine.  "Thanks, Aria... you ought to teach Tony a thing or two about romance.  But if you want to kill him, you'll have to get in line."

Aria laughed gently. "I think Tony can handle romance just fine. I think, in the end, it's how he sees what he's entitled to. And I kind of blame his dad for that, going by what Steve's told me… there's some stuff about Howard he hasn't actually told Tony. His memory of his father is tainted enough," she sighed and moved to get them two wine glasses.

Pepper crossed the room to get the corkscrew.  "Share a glass with me. ...how have they been?" she asked.  Steve looked okay. Tony looked appropriately shaken, considering Ty's appearance.  Sometimes Pepper forgot Tony lived in a bubble. She'd recognized Tiberius Stone immediately, but of course, Tony didn't pay much attention to anything like omega social issues; why would he?

"Steve is okay , I think. I don't know. He never likes it when Tony drinks. But then, who does?" Aria shrugged as she moved to pour them both a glass. "Tony hasn't been acting guilty, if that's what you were wondering." She hummed as she picked up a glass for herself and took a sip.

Pepper propped her elbow onto the counter, avoiding the crack, and sipped her wine with an appreciative sigh.  "Stark, Sr., casts a long shadow in this household." She frowned a little. "...you should probably prep Steve for March.  Tony visits their graves. He gets... moody." That was a polite way of putting it; Pepper assumed Aria would know what to do with that information.  "Anything I need to know about his father?" she asked bluntly. She'd been involved for so long in Tony's affairs that she was pretty sure she knew more about him than he knew about himself.  Actually, she was sure of it. Tony didn't know his own allergies (opiates) or blood type (A+) or whether or not he was registered to vote (yes) or dentist's name (Robert Jelicich). Pepper's enormous cache of information was her first line of defense against Tony's precarious hold on his own sanity.  In the last decade she had rarely been caught off-guard; in instances when Tony suddenly discovered something about himself he didn't like, Pepper was usually already prepared to handle it.

That was what made the kiss so tricky.  It had been completely unexpected. Pepper was someone who prepared for everything, always had a plan.  There had been no plan for that. She was admittedly annoyed to find that Tony hadn't displayed any guilt or remorse.  But she was inclined to agree with Aria; Tony was sheltered and entitled and also had been raised thinking of omegas as _lesser_ , so he wasn't entirely to blame.

Lack of preparation... that was also what had made Afghanistan so tough.  Pepper hadn't known how to console him. Yes, he made weapons. Was he truly so completely unaware of what weapons _did_? That was one of the first times Pepper had been rendered speechless.  And how did you console someone about being tortured for three months, anyway?

Then there was the whole arc reactor thing.  He hadn't told her. He'd kept her in the dark.  He'd been dying and he'd been doing it alone.

Now that she thought about it, she and Tony were drifting apart and had been since Afghanistan.  She decided her New Year's resolution would be to try to spend more time on their friendship. The company sucked up a lot of her free time, but she didn't want to wake up one morning and discover their strange little friendship had dissolved.

Aria took a long gulp of wine and leaned forward on her elbows. She nursed her glass carefully as he gaze fixed on a point on the wall behind Pepper. "Howard was very inappropriate with him. Handsy, that kind of thing. But then, so was the president," Aria snorted. "Omegas  weren't people back then. It was hardly surprising. And even with the serum, I don't think Howard got ever saw Steve as more than ‘just an omega.’ He tried to sleep with Steve a lot. He never did, though. Or at least, he said he didn't."

Pepper took a deep, shaky breath and nodded.  She could have guessed that. Howard Stark, as Tony had known him, was a stern no-nonsense businessman.  But by all accounts, as a younger man, he'd been much like Tony. Charming, friendly... _too_ friendly, especially with the ladies.  Steve was attractive, extremely so. Of course Howard would have gone after him.  Pepper was more impressed that Steve had managed to avoid getting taken advantage of; Howard Stark wasn't someone who seemed like he took "no" very well.

Aria sipped at more of her wine. "It's nothing catastrophic but it's something that could understandably freak Tony out a little. I would be freaked out by it, for sure.  This whole problem," Aria gestured at the air, "would be solved the minute Tony sees Steve as an equal. He doesn't want Steve to go off with another Alpha, so… there it is. That's all we need. And I don't know how we can make it _click_ for him. I thought time would work its magic but it clearly hasn't."

"Tony hardly sees anyone as an equal," said Pepper pointedly.  "It's not just status or station or gender or race... Tony's so isolated by his own intelligence and money that he's gotten used to the world being a sort of... giant dollhouse.  Ever noticed how he doesn't have friends? To Tony, friends are just objects you play around with, not autonomous beings who deserve respect." She swirled her wine thoughtfully. "He's a lonely person.  ...having Steve around, it's been good for him. He's still probably got the emotional maturity of a clam, but at least he's taking baby steps." It was odd to admit that she was aware of how selfish and stunted Tony was.  Why she had been loyal to him all these years... she wasn't sure. Maybe because deep down she felt like Tony had the potential to be something greater than what he was. He tried to do right, he really did; his heart was in the right place.

"I understand Steve is good for him," Aria said, taking another small sip of wine. It was sweet and smooth and ran down her throat pleasantly. "But it's Steve I'm worried about, I mean obviously I'm bias...as are you. We're allowed to play the favourites game a little, I think. Steve is a huge personality. He's 'captain America.' But on bad days he still feels like he's in the forties and sometimes he needs Tony to remind him he's a _person_ , you know? Like sometimes I get phone calls from Steve, Pep-" Aria shook her head. "Conversations _I_ shouldn't be having with him. Tony-"

"Miss Potts.  Colonel Rhodes is here," reported JARVIS.

Pepper was captivated by Aria's confession; over the last few months she'd gotten to know Steve pretty well.  They'd been out shopping, to see movies and get frozen yogurt and swap Tony stories. She cared about Steve's well-being a lot, and also recognized that Steve's well-being was irrevocably linked to Tony's.  She was desperate to know what late-night phone calls Aria was getting, because from her perspective, Tony and Steve had been doing quite well.

Rhodey stepped through the front door to find a group of omegas (and Happy) on the sofa; he recognised Tiberius and immediately said. "Sorry, I'm interrupting something, aren't I?"

He was in his blue uniform, well-dressed, back straight.  Despite his polite words and pleasant, professional demeanor, the back of his neck was tingling.  He knew Tiberius from magazine covers and talk shows but he'd never actually been in a room with him, and his smell had a sort of uncomfortably acridity that made him want to get the fuck away.  He pretended, of course, not to notice, and everyone else in the room pretended not to notice that he'd noticed.

"Yes, you are rather interrupting," said Phil.  He pointed to the stairs. "Tony went up."

"I need to talk to him and Pepper.  Probably more Pepper than him. You guys aren't cleared for the party you're planning, Captain," said Rhodey.  "Not considering the... situation."

"Situation?" Stone echoed and frowned a little. "I do hope everything is quite alright, Captain," he said, eyes flitting over Steve as if his appearance would somehow provide answers. The post-heat scent still probably lingered if one was really looking for it but that was about all the cues Stone would get. Steve's face remained unreadable.

"Life working for SHIELD is never uneventful," Steve breathed in diplomatic answer and Ty half smiled in understanding.

"Of course."

"You want to be the one to shut down a Stark party, be my guest," said Phil with a vague gesture.  "He already invited half of Hollywood."

"Who's side are you on, anyway?" asked Rhodey.

Phil gave a tight smile that revealed nothing.

"... _agents._.." scoffed Rhodey, sweeping off toward the kitchen.

Pepper and Aria were sitting at the counter sipping wine.  He nodded to them both. "Hey, Virginia. I was hoping to catch you, actually."

Aria clutched her glass. "You want a minute? I can go highjack omega rights for five if you want."

"Yeah.  You go check on the boys.  I'll handle this," said Pepper stiffly.

"Bit early for drinking, isn't it?" asked Rhodey, nodding at the wine.  "Tony's not rubbing off on you, is he?"

Pepper rolled her eyes.  "He's the one who drives me to drink in the first place.  Take a seat. I'm guessing you're here about the party."

"Not even gonna offer a guy coffee first?" asked Rhodes.

"We're not canceling the party.  Tony would lose it. We already had to disrupt his Christmas plans and you know how he feels about change.  Besides, Steve has a bunch of contacts from his omega rights crew who are showing up. It's too late to cancel it, James, I'm sorry."

"SHIELD isn't happy about this and neither is the DoD, considering what went down on his birthday."

"So post guards or something... show up in _your_ suit to make sure Tony doesn't put a toe out of line."

"Those suits are more trouble than they're worth.  Don't get me wrong, War Machine is awesome--"

"Please don't tell me you're calling the suit that."

"--but they also attract trouble.  SHIELD won't tell us about what's going on but we know Rogers is on 24/7 surveillance.  I need an iron-clad guarantee nothing's gonna go down like it did in May."

"I can have JARVIS lock down the suits.  How's that?" offered Pepper.

"But Tony could still override that."

"Tony takes what Tony wants," said Pepper.  She examined the wine and then took a deep drink of it, trying to forget about that damn kiss.

_That damn kiss._

_That was what had done it this time, a simple little good-bye kiss.  Bucky hadn't even realized Steve was watching when he said good-bye to his date on the front stoop.  But when he climbed up the steps to the apartment, Steve was waiting, furious, and now they were fighting again._

_"Stevie, please.  Come out," he begged, knocking on the bathroom door._

_"No!  Screw off!" yelled Steve.  His voice cracked and Bucky knew he was in there trying not to cry.  He hated letting Bucky see him cry._

_Bucky could feel it, his mate's misery coiling, serpentine misery in his gut, powerful enough to make him queasy.  "Steve, I'm sorry. Please. I love you," he begged._

_"Oh, yeah?  You love me?  As much as all those dames you're always dragging home, huh?  If you love me so much, how come you treat me like this, Jimmy?"_

_"'Cause you're too damn sick to mate!  Jesus tap-dancin' Christ, Steve, you_ know _that!"_

_"Then why'd you even bond to me in the first place if I'm so broken, huh?"_

_Bucky smacked his left hand against the door.  "You know I'm starting to wonder that myself!" he yelled.  He immediately regretted it. It was a cruel thing to say and not true.  He'd bonded to Steve because he loved him. "Steve, damn it, open the door!"_

_Steve was silent and Bucky could feel that he was crying._

His eyes opened.  They were wet. He reached up to wipe them, not sure why he was crying.

"Bad dream?"

He looked over.  The omega was staring at him.  He didn't answer.

"Sometimes I have bad dreams.  About my parents. The bombings.  The riots."

"I've never dreamed before," he said.

"That's impossible.  You dream. You just don't remember it.  Now you'll remember it more, because your mind is healing."

He shook his head.  "I don't like it. I don't like remembering.  I was a bad Alpha."

The omega cocked his head.  "Were you? You've always treated me like an equal.  I appreciate that."

"Everyone's equal," said the soldier.  "That's what Karpov says. He says one HYDRA overthrows the capitalists, we'll all be equals and status won't matter anymore."

"You should stop listening to him.  He's poison to your mind," said the omega, pulling out a packet of gum.  "If everyone were equal, then he wouldn't order you around like a dog, and you wouldn't have to listen to him."

The soldier considered this tentatively.  "Some people are more equal than others," he explained finally.

The omega laughed.  "That's from _Animal Farm_.  Have you read _Animal Farm_?"

The soldier shook his head.

The omega rose, grinning.  "Let me get you a copy. You might learn something.  Good-night, James."

"...good-night, Pietro."


	25. Party Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-day-late update! I'm sorry! I'm working on cosplay for the Infinity War premiere. 
> 
> Because Infinity War is gonna be loco-bananas, I want to remind our readers that there will be NO UPDATE on Thursday the 26th. However, there will be one on the 29th probably. (No promises.)
> 
> Also I want to reassure everyone that before we go back to our regularly scheduled drama and angst, the party is lots of happy fluff, which I suspect we'll all need post-Infinity War.
> 
> \- Tony/Apollo

"So...anyone I need to call? Set dates with?" Aria asked as she stepped into the living room.  Three pair of omega eyes turned to her (plus Happy's).  The men fell quiet as she approached. She didn't feel remotely intimidated by it as she sat down, pulling out a planner and a pen, ready to take down notes. They had had enough time alone and Aria was trying to keep a tight hold on Steve's schedule.  Besides, Aria felt just as comfortable around omegas as she would betas. After living with two her whole life she felt like she understood them just about as well as someone who wasn't an omega possibly could do. She offered Steve a small smile.

Steve didn't return the smile.  He didn't get the way Aria was treating him at the moment. She kept asking him if he was okay. She kept looking at him like he might break- which was weird. Sure, he had bad days, but that was normal for PTSD sufferers, and he was in post-heat so he was bound to be a little emotional. But ever since his heat Aria had been strange and it wasn't like Aria hadn't seen a heat before. It wasn't _that_. It was something else. Something was bothering her but she was doing her best to hide it from him. Maybe it really was none of his business.

"We were asking Captain Rogers if he would consider an ad campaign," Ty said, watching Aria with some interest. She flicked through the diary.

"How's February...?"

"Of course," Aria said with a smile. "If Steve is called away on duty, we'll have to rearrange."

Soon they began talking about dates and locations and Steve's mind admittedly switched off. This is what he paid Aria for, after all. And every appointment was made with a strict reminder.4

They were due to raid another HYDRA base mind January. Steve still didn't know if Tony was coming. He'd only mentioned it in passing once but now Steve was almost certainly not going. They wouldn't want to take the risk. It made sense.

He was bummed out.  He looked forward to STRIKE missions a hell of a lot more than ad campaigns and magazine interviews and photo shoots.

"Okay. I think we're sorted," Aria said, closing her diary back up. She glanced between Tiberius and Steve. "Are you staying for lunch?" she asked Ty in a casual invitation. It was polite to ask, after all.

Tiberius shook his head but offered a polite smile in return. "I'm sure you can understand how busy new year can be; if I might just have a word with Steve before I head off?"

Steve rose.  "Yeah, sure.  You wanna go outside?  The view's nice."

Ty rose.  "Why not?  I could use a cigarette."

* * *

 Tony wasn't sure why but he felt compelled to have a cigarette.  He had given up smoking ever since Afghanistan.

He leaned out over his balcony, huffing the cool sea air, thinking about Ty.  Poor Ty. He's been the closest thing Tony had ever had to a friend for the first twenty years of his life.  Why hadn't he written? Why hadn't he done something? He'd just never thought about it. Ty had left, Tony had stayed... he'd never thought Ty was being tortured somewhere.  Getting himself all fucked up. Having bits and pieces cut out of him.

His stomach turned.

He went back in to his room.  He grabbed a drink from the minibar in his room, chugging it instead of sipping.  He needed the courage.

He threw on jeans and a t-shirt, not wanting to wander around the house in a dressing gown while Ty was about.  He wanted to apologize, to _say something_ , but didn't know how.

He downed another drink before he felt wobbly and confident enough to go down and face his childhood friend.

He took a few deep breaths and then strutted out of his room and down the hall, taking the curving staircase slowly.  But the omegas were gone and the room smelled only like flowers.

Tony lifted his nose into the air and huffed a little, trying to figure out where they were.

Rhodey had been here and then left; he was in the kitchen, probably arguing with Pepper and/or Aria about the party.  No _way_ Tony was canceling that.

Phil had been here, recently.  So had Steve and Ty. He kept huffing and finally determined Ty and Steve had walked out back to the pool area.

Even knowing what to expect, he still disliked Ty's smell.  It was _wrong_.  Not omega-y, no.  But not Alpha-like, either.  It was something else entirely.  Burnt rubber. Tony rubbed the back of his neck vigorously, making sure his hackles were down, before walking toward the pool area to find them.

* * *

"You know, the day your piece came out, our membership went up drastically. As did Horseshoe's, I believe. It was a spike that lasted a couple of days. You touched a lot of people, Captain," Ty breathed as he stared down at the water of the pool. It shimmered under the sun. "It was quite something. Not just coming out, but... well, being alive at all.  I couldn't believe it. I mean, the whole world thought you were dead."

"So did I, until I woke up," Steve said.

Ty went quiet for a moment, still staring at the pool. Apparently it was easier than looking up and meet Steve's gaze.  Steve noticed that, despite Ty saying he'd like a smoke, he'd made no motion to reach for any cigarettes. "Are you happy with Tony?" asked Ty finally.

"It's been a rough week, but yes," he said, feeling almost uncomfortable the question. Steve didn't want to talk about this with Tony's old school friend.

"The way people look at this relationship worries me." Tiberius admitted. "Because of Tony's... past."

"He's not doing that anymore."

"But what if he was? What if he shacked up with some women for a few days? Could you forgive that? Would you stay?"

"No," Steve said, and frowned. "But that's not going to happen. I don't think so."

"Don't you?" It was Stone's turn to frown. "Because if it does, _your_ reputation is on the line, Captain, not his."

"I know that," Steve quietly. "I know. But that's the risk I have to take.  A risk worth taking."

Ty looked up at him, something fierce in his eyes. "Indeed."

Tony burst out onto the pool deck to find Ty and Steve talking, staring down at the sparkling crystal surface of the water.

For a moment his senses went reeling.  Steve smelled so familiar and comforting and warm; Steve's scent, in Tony's mind, was the scent of home.  But it was mixed with Ty's scent, which was still so _wrong_ , so uncanny and ugly.

"Ty.  Hey," said Tony.  "Listen, I'm sorry."

"...what?"

"I said I'm sorry.  I'm sorry about what they did to you.  I didn't know." Tony walked over and slipped an arm around Steve, the liquor making him a lot more emotional than he'd normally be.  "I didn't know any of this. I'm an Alpha, I've always been around Alphas, it's only 'cause of Steve I know anything. But now I want to help fix things for you guys.  It's not fair, how omegas are treated. I wanna help."

"...thank you, Tony," said Tiberius quietly.  "I appreciate that. ...you know what they say, charity starts at home.  You want to treat omegas well?" He nodded to Steve. "Start with this one."

Tony smiled a little and leaned in to kiss Steve's neck.  "I love this one," he mumbled happily.

"Well.  I'll leave you be.  I suppose I'll see you both tomorrow, at the party.  ...Stark, you know it's not noon yet, don't you?"

"It's noon somewhere," said Tony.

Tiberius frowned.  "...yes, well... that's true.  It was nice to meet you, Captain."  He stuck out a hand for Steve, then offered it to Tony.

Tony hesitated.  "I don't like shaking hands."

"Is it because of my smell?" asked Tiberius bluntly.

Tony blinked in surprise. "What?  No! No, it's... it's because of something else.  It's not you, I don't like touching hands in general.  ...aw, forget it, it's been like twenty-five years--" He threw his arms around Tiberius in an embrace; Tiberius made a noise of surprise and patted Tony's back awkwardly.  Steve could tell Tony was hanging on a little for support; clearly he'd had more than one drink before coming down here.

Despite Steve's general dislike of Tony's drinking, something warmed in Steve's chest when he saw Tony hug Tiberius. He smiled, the edge of his lips twitching up. Yes, Tony was drunk, but he was saying the right things and that had to count for _something_. He shook Tiberius's hand after the hug and said his goodbyes. Then Steve turned to Tony and placed his hands on the other's shoulders.

"We should get you some water," he murmured and leaned forward and kissed Tony's forehead. Steve took his hand and gently lead him towards the kitchen.

"You said the right thing," Steve said softly as he pushed the glass of water over to Tony for him to drink, a small smile on his lips.

"What are you talking about?"

"...Ty said he was worried about us, and then you came out and said the right thing.  It really helped drive my point home.  Thanks."

"It did?  --oh, I mean, sure, no problem," said Tony, throwing back the water.

"I have your singer lined up for tomorrow. They're arriving at nine," Aria said, walking into the kitchen, her eyes bright. "You should be excited. She's _especially_ excited to meet you, Steve."

"Who is it?"

"It's a surprise."

Steve blinked curiously. "Okay... good to know.  But if it's anyone under the age of eighty I doubt I'll even know who they are.  ...is it Ella Fitzgerald?" He turned and pushed another glass towards Tony. "Drink."

Tony drank the water offered to him gratefully, then said, "Ella Fitzgerald is dead."

"Oh."  Steve's shoulders slumped.  He looked over at Aria.  "...what are you looking at?" he demanded defensively, eyeing her.  "If it ain't Ella Fitzgerald, who is it?  Who's the entertainment? Is it that Avicii guy?  'Cause I don't know who that is."

"It goddamn better be Avicii," said Tony with sudden conviction.  "Where's Pepper?  Pepper!" he yelled.

Pepper appeared in the doorway with her tablet, her cellphone cradled on her shoulder.  "Tony, this better be important, I'm on the phone with General--"

Rhodey appeared behind him.  "Tony, I didn't know you knew Tiberius Stone."

"I didn't either," said Tony.  "He was always just Ty to me. I haven't seen him in years."

"His smell gave me the heebies-jeebies."

"Yeah.  Me too."  Tony threw back the water again.  "You coming to my party, Rhodey?"

"Your party isn't author--"

"They're delivering the ice sculptures tomorrow at eight," reported Pepper.

"--ized."

"Did you get Avicii?"

"No, Aria got the entertainment."

"It's not Avicii," said Aria unapologetically.

"Since when were ice sculptures a thing?" Steve frowned. "Surely they melt..."

"They do. Just slowly," Aria hummed.

"It's so cute when he's all... poor and uncultured," purred Tony.

Rhodey looked between Steve and Tony and then Aria and sighed. "I thought you were supposed to be the _good_ one, Captain," he said, tone fond.  "Can't you convince Tony to call off the party?"

Aria snorted. "Steve like never does what I tell him to. He's awful."

"The worst," agreed Steve.  "...the party's really important to Tony and besides, they already ordered the ice sculptures.  I'd hate to send those ice sculptures back."

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Aria and Pepper spent most of it on the phone yelling at various people while the rest of them milled about with the odd job.  (Tony's was to "not touch anything" and "put the whiskey away," something Pepper emphasized every thirty minutes.) Steve mostly drew, filling up his walls and also putting a lock on he door so he could keep the room safe during the party; he didn't want drunk people to wander in and spill drinks in his studio. The drawings were precious to him. Clear memories of his and Tony's first months together, and his past life, from before the ice.

He shared a small smile with a detailed sketch of Peggy before he shut the door and locked it and headed to get ready for the party.

Steve dressed in dark skinny jeans and a dark blue shirt with a black waistcoat on top. It was stylish but understated, nothing too flashy. He pushed a little product into his hair to keep it out of his eyes before he headed downstairs to find a stressed out-looking Pepper pointing men with bottles in certain directions. It was eight, and the guests were due to arrive in an hour, and Pepper looked like it.

"Oh thank God you're dressed," she said when she saw Steve.  She was speaking a little too quickly.  "Mendez, put that swan into the second living room, please!  ...no, not _that_ swan, the other swan!"

Steve watched a man carefully move an ice sculpture on a cart, temporarily fascinated, before turning his attention back to Pepper.

"Are you... okay?"

Pepper let out a barking laugh, clearly a stressed sound, and ran a hand through her hair. Steve put a hand on her arm. "I'll make you a coffee," he told her and she shot him a grateful smile. She had a complicated coffee order but Steve still remembered it from being a PA. He had been a good PA and he almost missed it; Pepper had been a good person to work for. It was why so easily they'd fallen into such a good friendship now. Or at least, Steve hoped.  Lately, since his heat, things had felt weird between them.

Pepper was walking into the kitchen reviewing a checklist; she wove through the caterers with enviable elegance, never bumping them even though her attention appeared fixed on her tablet.

Steve followed her.  The expresso machine was in the kitchen, anyway, so he had an excuse.

"I didn't do something to upset you, did I?" Steve asked with feigned casualness as he moved to make her coffee.  "If I did, I genuinely didn't mean to..."

Pepper looked up to give Steve a strained smile.

"No... no, Steve, you haven't done anything at all, I'm just... Tony is stressing me out, that's all."  Pepper took a deep breath and leaned over the counter. "Steve, Tony is... not very good at... well, what you two have right now.  I care deeply about both of you and I... I want this to work out." She gave Steve another strained smile. Pepper was normally excellent at communication so her halting speech seemed very out of character to Steve.

Steve schooled his features to prevent him frowning. Pepper sounded strange and it made him feel unsettled. "You know are relationship isn't your  job, right?  That's not for you to worry about. You have so much on your plate already Pepper.  Seriously."

"Speaking of plates, where are the stuffed mushrooms?" asked Pepper, snagging one of the caterers.  Steve understood that meant the conversation was over.

It would have been over anyway; Tony walked in wearing a slim-fitted charcoal suit with a lavender and gold tie.  "Hello, beautiful people!" he called. He slid an arm around Steve's waist and leaned it to nip his neck affectionately.  "Who's ready for a party? Man, Aria's being very hush-hush about whoever she got to perform. I'm excited. ...oo, did you make me coffee, Steve?"  He beamed.

Pepper glared.

Steve could see Tony was buzzing excitement. After a few weeks cooped up in the house he could completely understand why. He just hoped that the party went without incident. They all kind of needed to have a good time tonight, after everything.  "I made _Pepper_ coffee," he said pointedly and squeezed Tony's shoulder lightly.

"Well, make me some coffee," demanded Tony petulantly.

Steve and Pepper both began making noises of protest, but they were drowned out by several caterers pushing past them to make way for Natasha, Clint and Sam to walk into the room.  The caterers looked understandably alarmed; all three were in black tactical gear. "Sorry we're late. Mission overran," Nat said as she walked up to the countertop and placed down a vase of roses. "A present for the happy couple." If anyone noticed the odd bullet hole in the rose petals no one commented on it. "How was your first heat?"

"Wait, you ran a mission?  Aren't you in post-heat?" asked Steve, brow furrowing.

"Yeah, since yesterday.  It's fine.  I can still shoot a bow in post-heat," said Clint casually.

Steve was rendered speechless.  He turned his attention to the flowers instead, trying not to act too hurt that he'd been left out of a mission.  "Nice roses."

"How romantic," said Tony dryly, looking over the roses.  "Question. When Clint's in heat--"

"Ever been bitch-slapped by an omega?" asked Clint.

"--I'm just wondering how--"

"Stark, shut up," snapped Natasha.  She slid onto a stool. "We were briefed on the incident.  You okay, Steve?"

"You're not going to ask _me_ how _I_ am?  I'm the one he tried to kill!" whined Tony.

"You're obviously fine, and still a selfish pig," said Natasha dismissively.  She reached over and placed a hand over Steve's, and lowered her voice. "We have some new intel and we're going to another base later in the month.  We're going to find him and fix this, Steve."

Steve's fingers flexed under hers affectionately. He half-smiled. "I'm okay," he breathed, not really wanting to think about new intel right now. "Maybe we should leave work talk for after New Year's, though..." he said.  Clint raised his eyebrows curiously.

Maybe it was strange that Steve had just referred to Bucky, his old mate, as 'work.'

Pepper's head snapped up suddenly as if she's just remembered something.  "Steve," she said. "I have something I need to talk to you about. In private."  The photo and the dogtags were weighing heavy in her pocket. She'd been carrying them around, unsure of what to do.  Now that Steve was out of heat and it didn't seem like Bucky was invading his head anymore, she needed to give them back to their rightful owner.

Tony whistled as he helped himself to Pepper's coffee.

Steve gave Pepper a strange look but still followed her out of the room, just as Rhodey was walking in. He blinked in surprise at seeing a room full of agents. "Sam Wilson, Colonel," Sam greeted, easing away the awkwardness as he held out a hand.

Pepper and Steve headed upstairs, his mind confused as to what this could possibly be about. "Is everything okay?" he asked tentatively as they stepped into his and Tony's bedroom. "Aside from the usual, I mean.  ...you said everything was okay, earlier."

"Everything's fine," said Pepper, giving Steve a terse smile.  "I just... I don't know if you recall, when your heat started, Natasha gave you a memento.  You dropped it and I thought you'd want it back."

She pulled the photograph and the dogtags out of her pocket and offered them to Steve.

"...I didn't show anyone," she added.  She knew, well enough, that Steve was self-conscious about how he'd looked before the serum.  There existed, to Pepper's knowledge, only three photos of Steve pre-serum, all of them on display in a museum and printed in history books.  This photo of him and Sergeant Barnes was invaluable... but also private. The photos of Steve, pre-serum, were all individual shots. In this one, it was immediately and obviously clear that he was an omega and that the man he was with was either a mate or a courting Alpha.

"...I'm sorry, Steve," added Pepper softly.  She was partially apologizing for Steve's loss, for the old mate of his that had been died only to have, apparently, been resurrected to terrorize him.  But she was also secretly apologizing for the kiss (if you could call it that) that Tony had stolen from her. She thought it best not to tell Steve about it (after all, what would that accomplish?  Pepper was a very practical person) but the guilt still rankled her, even if it hadn't been her fault.

Steve had admittedly forgotten about Natasha's gift with everything else that happened. He took the memento back gently, thumb brushing over the photograph. He stared down at it for a moment too long, his glassy when he looked back up. "Thank you Pepper," he replied quietly. "This means a lot. Really. ...Tony would freak out if he saw this," Steve whispered, sounding almost sad at the fact before he moved to pull a sketch book out of a draw. He slotted both the dogtags and photograph inside it before he placed it back. It was his private sketchbook, Tony respected that and didn't look at it.

"Tony has a habit of freaking out over things.  I wouldn't worry about it.  Your other mate is not part of this equation," said Pepper firmly.

Steve half smiled. "Thanks, Pepper.  ...and for the record, I'm sorry, too."

"What?  Why?"

"I'm sorry I threw up on you," he said, tone lightly teasing and that drew a finally genuine smile out of Pepper, even if it was only a small one.

"Well, I think you can be forgiven for that, Steve.  Come on.  Let's go down to your party."  She offered Steve her arm; Steve took it. 

"Yeah.  Let's go party."


	26. Flashbacks and Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date is December 31st, 2010, which means that some of Taylor Swift's songs are anachronistic... but the titles were too plot-relevant not to put in there.

Tony’s living room was bustling with activity as Steve and Pepper made their way down the curved staircase.  The furniture had disappeared to clear space for the ice sculptures and tables of hor d'oeuvres. A stage had been set up against one wall; Steve could only assume the furniture had been dumped into the garage to make way for it. 

Aria was milling among the sound technicians, SHIELD agents, and caterers, still tapping away on her phone. Sam moved to greet Steve properly, pulling him into a hug. "Hey man. Kind of excited. but also not sure what to expect tonight. Don't know how many of the rumors are true about Stark’s crazy parties.  Also, do you know if Colonel Rhodes is single?"

The man in question was currently chatting with Clint at the other side of the room. Steve pulled back, his expression bemused as he raised a brow at him. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him yourself."

The moment they were back downstairs, Pepper was back into the thick of things, directly the catering staff around.  Mostly, Steve couldn't help but notice, mostly omegas. Dressed in black and white, the wait staff and chefs ran to and fro; Tony's kitchen quickly began to resemble a military operation.

The orchids had mostly been moved upstairs to clear space on the ground floor.  Pepper was busily trying to direct an ice sculpture while yelling on her phone regarding private security.

"I love this," said Tony, relaxing on the couch, sipping a glass of Malbec.  "Don't you love this, Rhodey?"

"You know if anything happens, it's gonna be both our heads on the line?"

"Yep."

"You know the DoD is ready to call in an airstrike if necessary?"

"Lovely," said Tony, unconcerned.  "PEPPER!" he yelled suddenly. "WE GOT FIREWORKS, RIGHT?"

"YES!" yelled Pepper back, before turning back to her phone. "No!  No, no, no, that yes wasn't for you... I meant no."

"Wouldn't be New Year's without fireworks," he said.

Rhodes frowned.  "You gotta be more careful, Tony."

"That's what I have you for, buddy... Omega!" he called, spotting Steve talking to Sam.  "Omega, come here, I wanna cuddle you..." He turned to Rhodes with a grin. "I'm a bonded man, Rhodey, and I love it."

Rhodes rolled his eyes.  "I feel like I'm in bizarro land.  Next thing you'll wanna be cuddling me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Rhodey, you're not my type," said Tony, giving his arm a friendly punch; Rhodes punched him back with a small smile.

"I have a name!" Steve called back, although his tone was good-natured. "Behave yourself, Wilson," he told Sam playfully before he pulled away to give Clint a proper welcome. Clint hugged him tighter than usual.

"I heard Phil made one of his classic monster nests," he grinned.

Steve hummed affirmatively. "I think Aria's got photos."

It was nice, seeing everyone together like this. The minute after midnight celebrations Steve was getting outside and getting himself to the beach. He deserved to go outside, even if it was a little antisocial. Steve had been cooped up for far too long and he was desperate to just see the outdoors and breathe some fresh air.

"Banksy is coming in half an hour; he wants to chat with you, Steve," Aria announced.

Tony perked up.  "Banksy's coming," he repeated smugly.

Rhodey couldn't help but smile.  "...you get Banksy _and_ Boswell, and then I'll be impressed," he said.

"Oh please.  As if you don't have a thing for Banksy.  Everyone has a thing for Banksy. Even Pepper.  PEPPER!"

"What?" yelled Pepper, turning around, still on the phone.

"You think Tommy Banksy is cute, don't you?"

Pepper's ears turned red.  "No!"

Tony grinned, clearly delighting in embarrassing her.  He got up to get himself another drink. Tony was all about pre-gaming and it was just about time for the guests to start arriving.  He spied Happy; he lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, Happy. ...didn't you bring a date?"

"Naw."

"...what about that girl that gave you that terrible tie for Christmas?"

"Oh, we broke up," said Happy.  "It's okay. We weren't really compatible.  She wasn't really all that stable and I think she needed some time to figure herself out, you know?"

"That's stupid," said Tony.

"That's very mature, Harry," said Pepper, who had just gotten off the phone.

Tony frowned.

He wasn't able to mull over it for long, though, because the next thirty minutes were a whirlwind.  The house quickly became crowded with supermodels and athletes and foreign ambassadors and tech moguls in evening gowns and tuxedos, drinking flutes of champagne and trying to grab either Tony or Steve's attention.  Pepper got JARVIS to throw on some music and disappeared to find Aria and ask about the live entertainment. Tony took the opportunity of Pepper's absence to refill the flask he kept tucked in his jacket, just in case she tried to cut him off later in the evening.

It was a little overwhelming to Steve, in all honesty. Banksy grabbed Steve as soon as they arrived and pulled him down onto a sofa, telling him Tiberius was very excited about the prospect of doing an ad. And Steve was too, truly… he just wasn't sure how they were going to sell it yet. He wanted to keep it sincere and simple; that was what was most important to him. Banksy didn't appear to be drinking. Maybe it was in solidarity for Steve, or he simply didn't. Steve didn't ask.

Sam was nursing a beer with Natasha in the corner who looked like she was sipping water (but Steve knew it was straight vodka). Clint had some fancy cocktail and Aria was sipping her jack and coke through a straw. Everyone seemed to be happy, having fun and Tony was grinning from ear to ear. It was good to see him so happy again.  Steve felt out of place at the party, even though it was his house. It was a far cry from the kind of parties he’d had in Brooklyn in his own century.

Now super models… they were a whole new problem. They were honestly a little intimidating and way too handsy. Steve felt bad for keeping making excuses to get away from them.

"Entertainment gets here in fifteen," Aria told Tony and Rhodey as she breezed by them. "Be ready, boys."  She smiled at Steve, eyes bright. Clearly, whoever it was, she was proud of having booked them.

"I was _born_ ready!" barked Tony, still grinning.  He was already clearly tipsy even though midnight was several hours away, and his arms were wrapped around the waists of two giggly women.

Pepper swept over.  "A word, Mr. Stark?" she asked with a tight-lipped smile.

Tony made a face but got up.  "Ladies, could you keep each other company?" he asked pleasantly; the two girls collapsed into each other's arms with peals of laughter.

Pepper put a vice-like hand on Tony's shoulder and led him toward the stairs.  Tony made a small noise of protest.

"Pep, where are we going, the party's down here--"

"Shut up," snapped Pepper, dragging Tony into a spare bedroom and shutting the door.  Tony could feel the pulse of the music through the floor.

"Pepper, we're missing the party."

"Tony, I need you here for about five minutes, okay?  This is important."

"Okay," said Tony.

"Do you remember how you tried to kiss me, and I explain that I love you and Steve very much, but--"

Tony held up a hand and sighed deeply.  "Okay, okay, I get it, I see where this is going," he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"...what are you doing?"

Tony's fingers paused on a button.  "...what are _you_ doing?" he replied.

"...I'm trying to talk to you about your behavior."

" _Oh_."

"...what did you think--"  Pepper's jaw dropped. " _Unbelievable_."

"You said you needed me!"

" _To talk to."_

"You said you loved me!"

 _"As a friend._ God, Tony, are you kidding me?  You've got all of Steve's omega friends and about six reporters down there and you're peacocking around with a girl on either arm like you're single--"

"It's math."

Pepper blinked.  "What?"

"It's math, Pepper.  In a ratio of two numbers, as one number approaches infinity, the other functionally becomes zero."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Tony pulled a flask out of his jacket and took a lot drink, then sat heavily on the spare bed and looked away.  "I'm an Alpha. And a man."

"Yes.  Yes, I'm aware."  She crossed her arms.

"In my lifetime I have slept with an estimated seventeen hundred women."

"That's disgusting."

"My father never thought I was an especially good Alpha.  Maybe he was right. He was certainly a lot more dominant than me.  Maybe that's why they did it."

"...Tony?"

Tony was getting that weird, faraway look Pepper knew meant he was on the cusp of a flashback.  Her expression of annoyance had turned to one of concern.

"...because I wasn't dominant enough.  ...fortunately, if you look at the math, you'll see that, in the grand scheme of things, it no longer matters.  Seventeen hundred women. Three men. Ratio-wise we're talking a tenth of a percent, and every woman means that ratio gets closer and closer to zero.  Mathematically, I can wipe it out. I can fix it. Obviously, being with Steve, I'm currently in a lull, but I think, after behaving myself for over half a year, I've earned a couple of flings."

"I don't think it works like--"

"I'm doing this as much for him as for me.  Steve's a good omega. He's... _pure_.  You know he nearly went through what I did?  But he didn't. Steve, as an omega, is more dominant than me, as an Alpha.  Pathetic. I don't deserve him." He took another swig from the flask.

Pepper reached over and grabbed the flask out of Tony's hand.  "Tony. Is this about Afghainstan?” She gestured to her neck.

Tony nodded.

“Have you ever talked with Steve about your feelings?"

"No.  I don't want his pity."

"Tony.  You can't reduce your emotions to math.  You're not a robot. Doing what you're doing doesn't change the past.  You can't ever change the past. You can only learn to come to terms with it, and to do that, you need to face it head-on."  Pepper reached down and tilted Tony's head up to look at her. "...Tony? Do you think Steve’s heat maybe brought up some issues you never quite handled before?”

Tony looked away.  "Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't like feeling out of control, and this is your way of trying to regain it, isn't it?"

Tony snarled suddenly.  "Since when were you a pop psychologist?  Leave me alone, Pepper."

"You've had enough to drink.  I'm cutting you off. Keep your hands to yourself, Tony.  Out of respect for Steve."

Tony growled at her.

She sighed and walked out, leaving him alone in the guest bedroom to gather himself.  She loped down the stairs holding the mostly-empty flask, hoping to find Steve and let him know Tony was in one of his moods.  Unfortunately, the moment she descended the stairs, it was chaos. It was loud with music and bodies were pressed in everywhere and the party was in full swing.  She cringed, scanning the crowd for Steve, catching him smashed between two reporters, Tiberius, Banksy, and Aria.

She tried to push her way through the crowd toward him, but Steve was already heading toward the back door.

It was too much for him. Sure, he could deal with the chaos of a battlefield, but this was something else. Steve wasn't fighting, he was supposed to a be part of it and he couldn’t be, he couldn't goddamn _breathe._ It was too much. It was all too much. Oh God. His vision span a little, and then there was a hand on shoulder.  He whirled around and very nearly punched the person who had touched him.

"Captain. You can't go outside." It was Mac, he was frowning at him. The warm-up act was on stage, getting everyone ready for the main event. Steve didn't recognise his name. It wasn't really his kind of music. He liked it with lyrics, or at least, more than a few repeated words.

"If I don't go outside I'm going to throw up. I'll be back in a few minutes. If I go crazy, you have permission to shoot me," Steve breathed and then pulled out of his grip before stepping out. Mac let him go. Steve went down a few rows of steps and then sat down on the tiled patio overlooking the Pacific, the music a dull thud in the background. If he had to listen to one more reporter ask him what it was like to date Tony Stark, or how he dealt with being an omega in the workplace… he was going to goddamn _explode_.

_They say he's a bad man. Stark. He's a murderer.  The Merchant of Death._

Steve stood up in an instant, senses alert. He stared around. There was nothing. The sun had already sunk down low and it was dark out. Even with his super vision it was hard to see. Steve's hands twitched by his sides. Was someone really talking? Or was he just… hearing things?

Had he even really heard it?  It was more like an echo or a memory.

_All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. Be safe._

There was a silhouette by the edge of the drive. Steve would recognise that shape anywhere.

_I was a bad Alpha. But so is he.  Why do you always pick the bad ones, Stevie?_

He stepped closer, hands tense by his sides, his shoulders a tight line. Was this real? Or was Steve full-on hallucinating now?  Was this a post-heat thing? Should he tell someone?

Maybe it was being cooped up in a house so long, maybe it was...

_You were always so good at hating yourself. I suppose we made that easier._

_Angry… little… Stevie._

_It's not that you weren't good enough. It was never was._

_It's that everyone else simply isn't._

Steve reached out to touch.

 _Don't_.

His hand froze in the air instantly.

"Steve!" He turned around to see Pepper. There were tears in his eyes. When Steve looked back the silhouette was gone. He was fucking losing it. He was shaking. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Maybe he had.

She was in the doorway, looking stressed. "Are you… are you okay?"

Steve looked over his shoulder.  No one was there. Had there ever been?  Was this some sort of screwy flashback? A side effect of the SHIELD subconscious simulation thing? 

"Come in!" Aria appeared behind her. "I got this surprise for you, Steve!"

Steve nodded and let Aria take his hand when she reached for it, leading him back the stairs like a mother might a child. "You rebel. Stepping outside three hours early..." She was tipsy. He could tell. Aria didn't usually make jokes.

Pepper was sober, though, and watching him with concern. She looked at him with such a sadness in his eyes it made Steve's own gut twist. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked her as Aria began chatting to Mac once they were inside. She raised a hand and cupped his cheek,

"Oh my God!" a girl in the crowd shrieked. Pepper pulled her hand back and the moment was gone. The music had died down.

"That's _Taylor Swift!"_

...Taylor Swift.  Right. The omega pop girl who had “tweeted” at Steve.  So that was Aria’s big surprise.

Steve tried to look excited.

Pepper opened her mouth and said something but the words were swallowed by the noise from the crowd.  Steve knew some of her songs. _Mine.  You Belong to Me.  Love Story._

They all seemed terribly inappropriate considering the apparition Steve had just seen.

Pepper was still trying to talk to him but a moment later she was getting dragged into the crowd by a man Steve suspected might have been Anderson Cooper.

Aria was grinning ear-to-ear, a look of triumphant delight on her face.

Tony was nowhere to be found.

_He'd hidden under the bed.  It was childish, he supposed.  But it couldn't be helped. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably, so hard that his teeth were chattering._

_Another mortar shell erupted and he covered his head, tightening, curling._

_"...James?  James, you okay?"_

_Two identical pairs of reddish-amber eyes were staring at him._

_"C-captain," he managed.  No. That wasn't right. Steve hated being called that.  But what could he say? The nickname, Stevie, it no longer seemed appropriate.  Steve was tough as nails now and his bonding mark had vanished, and Bucky felt like he'd lost him.  Or, worse... that Steve had escaped him. Because before Bucky had been shipped off, they'd been fighting constantly, and Bucky's stomach had constantly ached with hurt and anger and need, and he knew he was feeling his mate, and he hated himself for making Steve feel so worthless, but didn't know what to do._

_"James.  It's just fireworks."_

_Blond omega.  But not Steve.  No. Steve's eyes were the calm, sparkling azure of the ocean.  Of the sky._

_He realized he was weeping.  Another shell went off and he curled up tighter, sobbing.  He wanted to go home. He'd been here too long; he was going mad; he was in hell._

_"My arm," he managed to cry.  "I-- I think they blew off my arm."_

_"Should we get Vasily?"_

_"No, he'll go crazy if he sees his soldier like this.  Just leave him be."_

_"Can't you do anything, Wanda?"_

_"I don't think so."_

_He flinched when he felt a hand touch his head.  A pair of slender fingers was stroking him, and someone was singing to him, softly, in a language he didn't know._

_"S-s-steve, I'm s-sorry... please... tell my omega I'm sorry," he cried.  "If I don't make it home, please, tell my omega--"_

_"Shh.  Сам узнаешь, будет время, Бранное житье.  Смело вденешь ногу в стремя, И возьмешь ружье.  Богатырь ты будешь с виду... Спи, мой ангел, тихо, сладко..."  Her voice was eerie, motherly... was he already dead? Was that what this was?  Had he been shot?_

_He curled tighter in his foxhole, listening to the shells exploding around them.  "It's not that he's not good enough," he said, snuffling pathetically. "It's that no one else is.  The world's not good enough for the likes of him. That scrappy little guy, all I ever wanted was for him to be safe..."_

_"Hush, James.  Sleep now."_

_"...I love him."_

_"I know.  Now sleep.  You can meet him in your dreams..."_

Steve felt a tug in his gut and he looked up at the ceiling. Aria tugged on his hand. "Come on! Steve! Get up on stage… let’s go!"

"I am so sorry, Aria, but just give me one minute.  ...oh, and swell surprise! I really like Tyler Swift.”

Aria frowned at him.

Steve gave her a sorry look and then sprinted upstairs. He saw two figures tumbling into one of the bedrooms and ignored them, walking past towards where he could feel Tony. The feeling of panic and tightness in his chest wasn't his. Or, at least, it wasn't his alone.

It was his mate's. And Steve couldn't have fun whilst Tony was in so much pain.

Steve found him under the bed. He didn't say anything and just crawled underneath him. It was awkward and cold but he curled his arms around him. Tony was shaking.

"Talk to me," he murmured. "Whatever it is. You can tell me. I love you now and I'll love you after."

Tony's eyes slid over to Steve, glazed, wide with panic.

"My left arm hurts," he whispered.  He rolled over to press his face into Steve's chest, breathing hard.

The talk with Pepper... it had stirred up a lot of old memories, ones he'd buried long ago.  He'd never admitted his (quite genius, actually) mathematical model to anyone before. Pepper was a brilliant accountant and when she had said it wouldn't work...

Well, she certainly wasn't as brilliant as Tony, right?  She couldn't be. No. He was, supposedly, the world's third smartest man alive.  He had to be right. As his number of total encounters approached infinity, each individual encounter approached zero in terms of significance, negating any singular bad thing that had ever happened to him.

After she'd left he'd grappled with his feelings, then been hit with such a sense of panic that he was overwhelmed by it.  He didn't remember crawling under the bed or shielding his head. He just remembering babbling about Germans and trying to figure out where the hell his extra clips were, which made no sense.  Maybe he was quoting _Saving Private Ryan_ or something.  He was pretty sure he’d seen part of it recently on TV.

"Is... is it a good party?" he asked weakly.  Even if he was up here, freaking out under a bed, he wanted to make sure his reputation was intact.  Judging by the pounding music and screams of delight from below, everything was going well.

Steve curled his arms around him tightly and squeezed gently. "I don't care about the party. I care about you. I don't think I actually say that enough Tony," he murmured and kissed the top of his head. "Whatever you're feeling, you can tell me. I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to love you, okay?" He whispered and rubbed his hand up and down Tony's left one. "Talk to me.  The party can wait."

Downstairs Aria was grumbling into her drink; when she spotted Mac across the room she smiled and sipped a little slower on her straw.

Banksy was on the stage, singing boisterously with Taylor and dancing. He looked thrilled. Tiberius was rolling his eyes fondly from the sofa whilst Clint chatted to him, about two feet apart.  Anyone who was statused gave him a wide berth, his pheromones clearly bothersome to them. Natasha was leaning against a wall beside Clint’s seat, watching the night play out with a curious glint in her eyes as she watched Sam laughing with Rhodey across the room.

If anyone noticed that Tony or Steve was gone, they didn’t show it.

"Tony?" Steve felt a lump well up in his own throat. "Please."

"Steve, when... when you were in heat... we were both out of control..."  Tony fumbled with his words. "...your old mate..." Tony took a deep, shaky breath.  "He was... he was a... more dominant Alpha, wasn't he? Sometimes I... feel him..." He tapped his chest.  He buried his face deeper into Steve's chest. "Steve... Pepper... Pepper says... but... but the thing is, Steve..."

Oh, boy, Steve was never going to get it, and Tony was too drunk to explain, anyway.

For the first time he was feeling something a bit like guilt from trying to kiss Pepper.  He'd only been fooling around. But Pepper understood Tony in a way Steve didn't, even though she was beta.  She was one of the only people who, when he came back from Afghanistan, hadn't asked how he was, hadn't treated him delicately.  She'd called the press conference he wanted and rang up the dentist and it was back to business as usual. She hadn't pressed going to the doctor.  She had had her hand in his fucking chest, for crying out loud. He loved her in a weird, selfish, possessive way and he wanted her and he was pretty sure she knew what had happened over there and how badly it had ruined him.

"Steve, I... I don't fuck around with women 'cause you aren't good enough.  You're good enough, Steve. You're better than good enough. You deserve better than me.  I'm a bad Alpha. I fuck around with girls because... because it helps me not think... and to feel normal... because..."

Tony couldn't finish.  He crammed his face back into Steve's chest.  He wanted to apologize and ask for forgiveness.  Was this level of guilt normal? It couldn't be... this couldn't be _all_ him, could it?

_"...three... two... one..."_

_Pietro and Wanda clapped.  Karpov huffed a little; they were all crammed into a hotel room in New Jersey together, and had just watched the ball drop on the tiny little television.  Bucky was curled at Karpov's feet, shaking at every firework. Karpov was absent-mindedly stroking his hair._

_"That was fun," said Wanda._

_"Yes, I enjoyed that," agreed Pietro._

_"Now you've seen the ball drop, can we go to bed?" demanded Karpov.  There were two twin beds; the twins had taken one, while Karpov had taken the other, letting the soldier sleep on the floor beside him._

_"Okay," they agreed.  Karpov had been waiting for them to go to sleep so that he could make a report to Strucker and Regina (ugh, Regina) and dose the soldier._

_Without his usual methods he was finding the soldier to be erratic and fractured.  His program required constant upkeep and attention but he was no longer allowed to resort to electroshock or cryo, so he'd be forced to resort to a rather more primitive way of controlling his charge._

_He waited until the twins were passed out and then fished the needle and syringe from his bag._

_The soldier sat quietly as he rolled up his sleeve._

_"...you have Dr. Ludheim to thank for this.  No panic attacks in seventy years, not one hint of a memory, and now look at you.  I hope von Strucker knows the distress he's causing you..." grumbled Karpov as he tapped the bubbles out of the needle._

_"Yes, sir," said the soldier, cringing at another firework pop.  He was sweating, his muscles tense. He stuck his arm out for Karpov; Karpov shoved the needle in and depressed the plunger._

_The soldier let out a shuddery sigh of relief, his muscles relaxing.  "...I get to go home soon?" he asked._

_"You are home.  I'm home. Возвращение на Родину."_

_The soldier felt himself growing sleepy.  "...Возвращение на Родину," he repeated, speech slurring.  A moment later he was passed out as surely as the twins. Karpov sighed and sat on the end of the bed, head in his hands.  He liked to joke about retiring to Cleveland, but frankly, it was looking more and more like the most reasonable outcome... he hadn't signed up for HYDRA to babysit a couple of weird witchy brats and an insane, mentally fractured junkie.  Ever since von Strucker had put Dr. Ludheim in charge, he was beginning to question the command. Could he run off with his soldier, perhaps? ...perhaps. For now, however, he had to get the four of them to the west coast. That was where Rogers was, and the closer they got the mates to each other, the better._

Steve made a shushing sound and ran his fingers through Tony's hair. He was quiet for a few minutes as he collected his thoughts and worked out what to say as he rocked Tony gently at the same time, doing his best to calm him. He didn't need to be told where the feeling of not being normal came from. Maybe it was because a part of Steve could feel it; he didn't know.  
  
"I know it's hard for you to understand as an Apha, Tony, but I don't really think of you in terms of... 'dominativeness'. And I certainly don't compare you, to anyone I would never do that.  And I don't know where you get the idea that you're not very dominant from. You're literally always in charge in the bedroom and I'm always goddamn putty in your hands, Tony. And I know you don't see it like this but screwing Captain America is a pretty ballsy thing to do, if you think about it. That's something Bucky couldn't do, not even when I was big. So please stop comparing yourself to him because you're incomparable.  Don’t stack yourself up against other Alphas; they ain’t the ones I’m bonded to. And I didn't mate a bad Alpha, Tony." Steve murmured. "I wouldn't have. And it's okay to have bad thoughts, you can't help that… but you gotta understand when you complain about wanting women... that doesn't feel good. That feels pretty shit. That's literally unattainable for me; I can't look like one or ever be one. It messes with a guy’s self-esteem, Tony. If you really don't think you can handle this monogamy thing, then that's okay, you just can't expect me to stick around to watch… I've been through it once before and my heart can't take it again Tony. It just can't."   
  
Steve ran his things through his hair again. "But if this is about being _normal_ then… you and I both know you never will be. Neither of us will, after the shit we’ve been through.  And that's okay Tony, it really is. It's not your fault. And I don't see you any differently- well, no, that's a lie. I do see you differently. I see you as a stronger person. And the fact that you made your own suit and killed them all… Jesus Christ Tony I don't know what can you make you more dominant and badass than that. I don't know anyone else that could have done that.  However dominant you feel you is not the limit of your awesomeness, okay? That's not what defines you. You're amazing and I love you and I'm going to keep telling you that until you start believing me."

Tony nuzzled Steve's chest, letting the words wash over him.  It wasn't so much the words as the tone.

"Thanks, Steve," he said in a low voice.  He decided not to add the weird flashback... Tony had never fought in the trenches or worried about mustard gas.  He knew those fears weren't his and it turned his stomach to know that he had a connection to Steve's old mate.

He reached up shakily to touch Steve's chin and leaned his head up to kiss him softly.

He had to admit he felt a little bit gypped.  He hadn't realized bonding was a monogamous commitment.  The last women he'd slept with was a nobody, some model with a name like Candy or Bambi or something, and if he'd know she was going to be the last... well, no use thinking about it now.

Steve felt Tony relax in his arms and Steve sighed in relief.  He kissed him back gently, not pressing to deepen it as he reached up to neaten Tony's hair best he could. He'd mussed it up a little.

"We have to go back down.  It's our party," said Tony after a few moments.  "...and Taylor Swift is there. You guys can do _Party in the USA_ together."

"That's not Taylor Swift, sir," interjected JARVIS.

"Oh.  Well, whatever, still.  She's down there and you guys are both, y'know, stand-up omega role models."  Tony nosed Steve's throat. "We can't hang out under a bed all night." He took a deep, shaky breath.  It was almost ten; he only had to hold his shit together for another two or three hours. He'd have a few drinks, and he'd be fine.

He'd already made his New Year's resolution.

"Come on," he said, giving Steve a little push.  "Let's go. ...when we kiss at midnight, I bet we'll be on the front page tomorrow," he added with a small smile.

"I do love that song though," Steve grinned as he slid out from under the bed, offering Tony a hand as they both stood. It was a good thing Tony had so many staff, or else under the bed would have been dusty, but like the rest of the mansion, it was immaculate.  Their clothes were just a little crinkled, that was all.

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes when Steve said he liked that song.  Of course he would.

"I wanna go out to the beach after midnight," Steve murmured as he threaded their fingers together. "I've been cooped up too long and I miss the sea. You can join me, if you want," he offered as he headed down the steps.   "Oh, Sam fancies Rhodey, by the way," Steve told Tony as they stepped into the party area, knowing that would amuse him.

The beach at night sounded nice.  Romantic. Quiet. Tony let Steve fix his hair and clothes with minimal fussing, and the two of them descended the stairs together.  Tony smiled-- _really_ smiled-- when Steve told him about Sam.

"Steve!" Aria hollered at him. "Where have you been?! Get up on that stage!"

"Duty calls," Steve sighed. He turned and tilted his head down to give Tony a proper kiss. "Love you," he whispered against his lips before he pulled away towards the stage.  


	27. New Year's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fluff while it lasts. You guys KNOW our boys are in for some angst...
> 
> Also, reminder: no updates on Thursday and possibly no updates on Sunday due to the Infinity War release. - T

They’d only just returned to the party before Steve was being dragged off to the stage; Tony scanned the crowd for Rhodey, wanting to make fun of him.  He spotted Pepper and Happy in a corner, talking and laughing. He frowned and made his way toward them but was almost immediately stopped by a reporter.

"Hi, Tony Stark!  I'm Helen Newquist from _Variety_ , can I ask you a couple really quick--"

"Is Variety or Vanity Fair the one I have an issue with?" Tony interrupted her.

"Tony!"

Tony turned.  Two girls were grinning at him.

"...it's me!  Morgan!"

Tony wracked his brain.  "...Morgan?" he repeated.  Neither looked familiar. They both looked like every other girl in the place, in a too-short, too-tight dress and heels that looked monstrously uncomfortable.

"...Morgan from the restaurant?"

"And Morgan from your birthday," said the other one.

"Oh.  ...two Morgans," said Tony, trying to edge away.  Shit. He'd slept with one and attempted to sleep with the other and now they were confronting him together in front of... what was her name?  Helen Morganquest or something?

"We thought you might want to ring in the new year by making a Morgan sandwich," purred one at him.

Tony looked around in a panic.  What the hell? Was fate testing him?  He’d just had a talk about monogamy with Pepper and then with Steve and suddenly two giggly attractive Morgans were closing in on him.

"...well that's... that's not how you'd name a sandwich," he said awkwardly, certain Pepper had once explained this to him.  "It would be a _Tony_ sandwich.  You guys would be the bread... you don't call a sandwich a 'bread sandwich'... y'know, you name it based on the filling...."

"You're like, _so_ smart," purred one of the Morgans.

Tony squirmed away, nearly knocking over the lady from Vanity Fair.  Or was it Variety? Fuck.

He plucked a drink from someone's hand and downed it, wading through the crowd toward Pepper.  She'd keep him in line. Holy fuck, he didn't need this sort of temptation. If he didn't know better he would swear Steve was messing with him, but that wasn't Steve's style, he knew.

He looked up at the stage, heart pounding.   _Steve..._ he thought fondly.

Natasha watched the whole ordeal with a smirk on her face and stepped between them, 'accidentally' spilling her drink on one of the Morgans. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't see you there."

"This dress is Versace! You ruined it!"

"Sleep with Captain America's mate and I ruin you," Natasha smiled, pressing her empty glass into one of the Morgan's hands before she slipped away with a wink, deadly red lips quilted up in a smile. She was probably having more fun than she had admittedly expected to.

Tony didn’t make it to Pepper; Rhodey accosted him first, grabbing Tony by the shoulders. "I think Steve's friend just hit on me."

“Oh, thank God, Rhodey!  You have to protect me from temptation.  All these hot girls are trying to take a ride on the Tone Bone and I promised Steve I’d be monogamous like, literally five minutes ago.”

“...'Tone Bone?'  _Seriously_?”  Rhodey shook his head in disgust, then repeated, “I think Steve’s friend, that Wilson guy, just hit on me.”  Rhodey was usually unflappable but right now he almost looked… unsure of himself. "What do I do?"

But then Steve was up on stage and Taylor was throwing her arms around him and squealing. "Oh my God! I'm so excited to meet you!"

The crowd cheered and dozens of camera flashes went off.

"Well, thank you for coming," said Steve humbly, pulling back, feeling admittedly more sheepish and star-struck than he'd expected to.

"I fucking _love_ you. You've changed my life," she said and Steve really didn't know what to say then. She looked so young and happy. It was weird to think he could be a role model for someone like her. Taylor grabbed the microphone and grinned. "So, can Captain America sing?"

Tony cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled from the crowd, “DO PARTY IN THE USA!”

“That’s not Taylor Swift, man,” said Rhodey, elbowing him.  “You’re an awful friend. _Sam hit on me._ Are you seriously not hearing me?”

Tony began giggling.  "Who, Sam? Yeah, he's an Alpha who likes Alphas.  You're single, right? Play your cards right and you might be able to get a free meal."

"I don't like Alphas!  Or men!" hissed Rhodey.

"Are you sure?  I distinctively remember two New Years ago--"

" _You_ kissed _me_ and you were _drunk_!"

"Who _doesn't_ love a man in uniform?" mused Tony, grinning ear-to-ear.  He looked back toward the stage. Taylor Swift was handing Steve a microphone.  "Oo, are we doing karaoke? Rhodey, you wanna do _Ebony and Ivory_ with me?"

"...only if I can be Stevie."

"No.  You don't have the pipes for Stevie.  You gotta _earn_ Stevie's part," said Tony, still edging through the crowd toward Pepper.  “You’re McCarthy until you prove you can actually do Stevie’s part.”

“You _always_ make me be McCarthy!” whined Rhodey after him.

Tony was already gone.  Finally, he’d made it to Pepper.

She and Happy were relaxing.  Tony rarely saw Pepper relaxing.

"...so then I said, well, _you're_ not changing _your_ name, so why do you care if she doesn't change hers?" Happy was saying.

Pepper had a weird smile on her face; she looked up when Tony came barreling through.  It took him a moment to realize she was a bit tipsy and also clearly having a great time.

"Pepper, you gotta save me, there's some Morgans here."

"What on earth does that mean?" she asked, sipping her wine.

"I'll take care of it, boss," said Happy, rising.

"Thank you, Harry," said Pepper, reaching out to touch his arm.

 _The hell_?

"No problem, Ginny.  You already do a ton," said Happy.

 _Ginny_??

"I'm going outside for a smoke!" announced Tony loudly, turning and rushing as quickly as he could through the crowd toward the pool deck.

"But you don't smoke anymore!" protested Pepper weakly as Tony rushed off.

“Tony, you’re gonna miss Steve singing!” added Happy.

Tony was already gone, while _I Knew You Were Trouble_ began playing.

Steve was grinning shyly with Swift on stage, swaying with her, hip-to-hip, leaning into the microphone.  He wasn't going to be arrogant and be like _yeah, I was in an all-omega barbershop quartet in the forties_... but yes, Steve could sing. Not well, but not terribly, either. And everyone in the room was drunk so what the hell did it matter anyway?

And _yes_ , he knew the words to her songs… he liked to sing along as he ran!

Aria leaned into Pepper, giggling. She was way too drunk. "Oh my God. That SHIELD guy Pep, I'm gonna kiss him. I'm gonna kiss him at midnight--"

Pepper patted her hand and led her to sit down.

"Steve looks happier," Aria mumbled, eyes flickering up to the stage. ( _“And he's long gone when he's next to me, and I realize the blame is on me…”_ Steve was wailing in harmony with Swift.)  "I think it's gonna be okay, I think..."

Steve sang a few songs with her, ending on “We Are Never Getting Back Together.” It was fun. Laughing and dancing with someone who was more his own age. She was funny and sweet and Steve almost felt an overprotective itch like he was an older brother. But that was also an omega thing. They protected their own, just like Danielle said.

From the audience, Clint watched with a grin.  Thanks to Steve’s influence, the party was heavily omegas and omega rights supporters.  It was a nice change of pace from the often Alpha-dominated parties he found himself attending for work.

He curled an arm around Natasha's waist, catching her in the middle of the dance floor. "Enjoying terrorising the guests?" he teased gently as Natasha curled her arms around his neck.  He’d seen the accidental drink spill. Her smile was innocent but the glint in her eyes was wicked.

"Sometimes I just can't help myself.  ...did _you_ know Steve could sing?”

“No idea.”

“Where’s Tony?”

“No idea.”

“...some hawk eyes you have.”

“Hey, I’m not on shift right now.  I think it’s Sitwell’s turn to keep tabs on the Iron Man.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Oh, boy… this is going to be his birthday all over again, isn’t it?”

Tony was outside.  He leaned over the balcony, the pool glowing behind him, trying not to look at the several party guests that had gotten naked and jumped in.  He was smoking a cigar, staring out at the ocean. It was a clear night; he could see the lights from Santa Monica pier, the Ferris wheel and the neon lights...

"Having a rough night, Stark?"

Tony looked over.  Jasper Sitwell was leaning against the balcony, smoking a cigarette.  Tony frowned and inched away, hating the smell.

"It's... going okay.  ...did you know Steve could sing?  Listen to him in there."

Jasper smiled a little.  "He sure can sing," he agreed.  "...I'm glad you two have been able to work through all this, what with Steve having another mate."

Tony's hackles rose.  "Ex-mate."

"You know there's no such thing as an _ex-mate._   I think it's really big of you, though, having enough confidence to be a secondary Alpha."

Tony's upper lip twitched.  "I'm not a _secondary Alpha!_ "

"Whatever.  Just saying, good on you, for making your trio work."  Jasper flicked his cigarette.

Tony reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He threw his half-smoked cigar after Jasper's cigarette and went back into the party.  Time to drown his sorrows and re-establish his ownership of Steve, who was wailing away on stage with gusto.

Tony spotted Clint and Natasha on the dance floor and felt a surge of jealousy. How come _they_ were so damn happy?  How come Natasha didn't have to deal with this stupid trio crap?  Was it because she was more dominant than him?

He tried to remember Steve's words to him from earlier.  Steve insisted he didn't care about dominance, but Tony couldn't help it.  He was an Alpha and it was programmed into him; that was how Alphas measured themselves.  It was as natural as comparing height in the boardroom or cars in the company parking lot.

He grabbed himself another drink.  With Pepper and Steve occupied, now was the time to get himself good and trashed.

"Oh my God. That was awesome!" Taylor shrieked and clung onto Steve's arm as they stepped down off the stage, her performance over for the night. She wasn't quite 21 so she wouldn't actually be drinking, considering there was newsagents around them, as well as cameras, but she was plenty giddy without alcohol. They were both a little breathless from the singing and the crowd were all over them.

Steve laughed easily, feeling more hyper than he had in an age. His skin was buzzing. He'd never done anything like that before in his life.

"Oh my God! Banksy!"

“Tay-tay!”

Taylor had been on his chat show before and immediately propelled herself at their fellow omega, pulling him into a tight hug. The two kissed each other on either cheek.  Steve spotted Aria and Mac giggling on the sofa, and then Tony drinking whiskey like it was water. He sighed fondly.

Rhodey and Sam...he couldn't see either of them. Annoying. He wanted to know how they were getting on. Steve moved through the crowds, leaving Taylor with Banksy for the minute as he went to check on his mate.

He didn't take Tony's drink out of his hands, not in public. Steve wasn't his mother. "Don't make yourself sick Tony. You'll regret it," he murmured. Steve felt sad and almost disappointed in himself… he thought he'd said he right thing to Tony. But apparently he hadn't said enough.

"Steve, sweetheart, I've got a liver the size of a basketball.  I'm not gonna get sick," said Tony, who was definitely drunk. He gave Steve a grin.  At some point he'd let someone pop a party hat on him; he was looking quite a bit more festive than before.  "You've got one hell of a voice, Stevie. I love it. I love _you_ .  You're beautiful.  Per _fect_ ion."  He slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, dangling off him, and patted his abs with a snort and a laugh.  "Wow. Captain America," he added happily. "You and me should-- we should do a duet, Steve. You can be Cher, I'll be Sonny, we'll do _I've Got You, Babe_... after I find Rhodey... me and him, we always do _Ebony and Ivory_ , where the heck is he..."  He hiccuped and then laughed, rolling his head against Steve's chest affectionately.

"Well, I still think you should take it easy," Steve sighed. He almost wished he could get drunk with him. He didn't like fooling around with Tony in bed when he was drunk, it made him almost uncomfortable...but then, drunk Tony often took it as rejection, and not Steve being considerate. It got complicated quickly. So it would be much simpler if Steve could get drunk too.

"Hey, Captain!" yelled someone.

He smiled as Tony leaned against him, curling an arm around his shoulders to help steady him.

Tony may have been drunk but a lifetime of dealing with the media had given him lightning-fast camera reflexes.  He was up in a second, smiling, arm around Steve, holding up his classic peace sign. A camera flashed.

Tony threw back the rest of his whiskey.  "May I have this dance, Rogers?" he asked, still grinning.  Wait, who the hell was supposed to lead? Tony was shorter but also an Alpha, but Steve was Captain America and... oh, hell.

Tony offered Steve his hand, not really giving a shit anymore.

"You may," Steve smiled subtly and took the offered hand. They didn't really bother with leading; they just kind of swayed together, Tony's arms around his waist and Steve's arms around his shoulders. The music was a little slower now so they could dance slow enough for it to be sweet, their noses almost brushing.

"Rhodey and Sam have disappeared," he pointed out with a soft grin. "It could just be a coincidence, of course."

Tony began giggling uncontrollably at the idea. 

A camera flashed off to their left. Steve ignored it. He leaned down and kissed him.

"You feeling okay?" Steve asked tentatively.

Tony pushed into the kiss immediately.  "...I feel fine," he said. That was... sort of, kind of true.  He felt drunk, anyway.

"Rhodey doesn't roll like that.  But I'm still rooting for Sam," said Tony with a grin.  "You and Taylor and Banksy looked cute together. You still want to sneak off to the beach after midnight?  I thought we could have some private time... y'know, like Sam and Rhodey." He laughed and leaned in for another kiss.

Swaying like this with Steve was nice.  Intimate, despite the loudness around them and the density of bodies.

Tony had a sudden memory of the last time he'd danced with someone like this.

She'd been wearing a blue dress.

Tony let out a nostalgic sigh and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed or the way her freckles made up a constellation across her face or the way she had touched Happy's arm earlier.  He leaned his head on Steve's chest, feeling the firmness of it, the steady beat of his heart; behind him, he heard someone yell that it was a half-hour until midnight.

Tony's fingers played along Steve's back, stroking him lightly.  Tony wanted to be happy but happiness was something he'd always had a tenuous grasp on.  He had difficulty finding a way to be content. Always had. Probably always would. Captain America should be enough for him.  Except Jasper's words were creeping into his mind, about him being a _secondary Alpha_ , and that rankled him, really rustled his jimmies...

He was suddenly aware that his hair was standing up again.  He reached up with one hand to rub the back of his neck, annoyed.

At least no one knew.  No one but he and Steve and a handful of SHIELD agents.  But otherwise, the shamefulness of sharing his omega with another, more dominant Alpha was a secret.

"The beach will empty. The house won't be," Steve pointed out softly. "But try and drink some water and sober up Tony. At least a little, for my sake."

Steve's words went in one ear and out the other.  Tony got another drink while Steve was accosted by Brent Walker, Jeffrey Walker's mate.  Tony had expected a bit more venom between Brent, an Alpha, and Banksy and Tiberius, but Brent almost immediately won everyone over by whipping out dozens of baby pictures and going on and on his twin girls.  (How much could you say about newborns, anyway? They couldn't even talk, thought Tony with annoyance.)

At the bar, Rhodey was slamming back a scotch.

"Hey, Rhodey!"

"Tony!  ...Sam's been coming on to me all night, what do I do?"

"Stick your dick in it," said Tony.

Rhodey scowled.  "You're an ass, man."

"I'm Tony goddamn Stark," said Tony with a shrug.  "If you're not into it, just say it.  It's not rocket science."

"...said the rocket scientist."

"Har-har.  Seriously, just tell him you aren’t into him, don’t be a tease."  Tony checked his watch. "It's almost midnight. Excuse me while I go kiss my mate."

He threw back one last shot before pushing through the crowd to find Steve entertaining the press.

The last half-hour had passed in a blur of music and dancing and interviews. One woman was asking Steve about his plans for the new year, hinting at babies. He'd just rolled his eyes fondly and told her: "I'm too busy trying to watch my own ass at the moment."

It made the woman laugh. Steve hoped he got the point across.

He talked to Banksy in the last five minutes. The man was hyper with champagne and talking to him about his future ad with Status Alliance, which he clearly approved of. But then Steve felt Tony coming up behind him and he automatically leant into the touch, smiling at the hands around his waist. Steve turned around and took Tony's hands in his own. He ducked his head down to whisper in his ear. "You wanna head outside for this, or hang around for the show?"

Tony slid his arms around Steve’s waist; his abs were rock-hard.  ...Jesus.

"Let's stick around for the countdown," said Tony, smiling.  He checked his watch. "Which is in two minutes, by the way."

"Hey everyone!  I hope you're having a great time--" called Taylor Swift from the stage; everyone yelled and held up glasses of champagne.  "--and had a great 2010! I know next year's going to be even better. Grab a glass and someone you love, because it's nearly time!"

More cheers.

Tony plucked a glass of champagne off a passing silver plate being borne by an exhausted-looking waiter.

"...to our first year together, I guess," said Tony, smiling at Steve.

"THIRTY SECONDS!" yelled someone in his ear.  He turned to tell them to shut up, but was distracted by the scene in the room.  Lights, music, champagne, tuxedos and taffeta gowns... this was his element. The Stark battlefield.  He caught, out of the corner of his eye, Aria dangling off of Mackenzie, giggling her head off; Pepper and Happy, swaying on the dance floor, looking into each other's eyes, not saying a word; Natasha and Clint shoulder-to-shoulder, their fingers lightly entangled at the very tips; Coulson and Banksy and Tiberius and Brent Walker, all getting along, for once.

"TEN... NINE..."

"...love you, Cap," said Tony.

"...FIVE... FOUR..."

"Our first year together," Steve repeated softly, letting their foreheads lean together for a brief moment.

He let his eyes slip shut. Steve exhaled slowly.

"THREE..."

Tony was warm and buzzing against him. he was drunk, Steve could tell, but after the week they'd had and all the chaos around them he couldn't really be mad at him for it. As far as new years went this was pretty awesome. Tony's little mini break down under the bed felt an age away now.

"TWO..."

Steve let his eyes flicker open and lock with Tony's.

"ONE!"

Screaming erupted and fireworks started to pop and bang outside, lighting up the dark sky and sending pretty reflections of bright purples and pinks and golds into the party. Steve and Tony's mouths slanted together and they kissed languidly. He ran his hands through his mate's hair and resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he felt Tony's hand sneak down to squeeze his ass. Cameras flashed everywhere. Steve ignored them.

Tony happily met Steve's lips when everyone began cheering, licking into his mouth and running his hand down his ass.  For a moment he was lost in Steve's mouth, in the firmness of his body and the taste of his kiss. Then Steve pulled away with an affectionate tug on his lower lip.

He pulled back with a dazed sort of expression on his face, feeling giddy from all the excitement. Almost like he was drunk. Steve leant down to kiss Tony's bottom lip and then nipped at it. "Beach?"

"Beach," agreed Tony softly, entwining his hands with Steve's.  "...come on."

He tugged Steve through the drunk, cheering crowd, half of whom were butchering "Auld Lang Syne," and toward the steps to the basement.

He punched in his keycode and slipped in.  When the bulletproof door shut behind them, it was eerily quiet.  Tony led Steve across the shop and toward another flight of stairs.  Steve knew there were two levels below this one; there was Tony's hall of suits and, below that, a wine cellar.  They descended the circular steps toward the wine cellar and crossed it, into the server room (or as Tony sometimes called it, "JARVIS's room").

Tony tugged Steve pasted the rows of ceiling-to-floor servers; on the far end of the room was another keycode-protected door.  Tony punched in a code and it opened into yet another stairwell, tightly curving downwards. Tony leaned on Steve as they descended, light-headed and woozy from the alcohol, until they got to the bottom.  There was a heavy metal door, a blast door like you might see in a military bunker. Tony shoved it open after punching in another code; they were in a tiny grotto and Steve could smell and hear the ocean.

There was a heavy iron gate; Tony opened it ( _more_ keycodes) and pulled Steve out.  The entrance of the grotto was hung with a heavy curtain of what appeared to be chaparral but was apparently fake; Tony pushed it aside and just like that, they were on the beach at night, the sky above them still bursting with brightly colored fireworks, the ocean whispering loudly and rhythmically against the sand.  They were completely alone.

"Pretty neat escape route, huh?" said Tony, smiling at Steve.  "...lead the way, Steve."

Steve had had no idea this here but something in his chest warmed at the thought that Tony had bothered to have this all put in. It was hardly a simple route outside but it was a lot quicker than the walk all the way down.

Even the fireworks sounded far away, and the party was barely there, a thrum of music echoing at the back of Steve's mind. The soft sound of gentle waves stole his attention, that and the pale glow of the mood across the water's surface and the sand. Steve was excited. He was beyond that. He looked elated when he turned to kiss Tony's forehead. "Pretty neat," he agreed in a hum and tugged on Tony's hand, bringing them closer to the waves.

"Feels so good to be outside again. Properly," Steve breathed. He'd spent a lot of time on balconies throughout the house to try and stop himself from going mad, but that hadn't been the same. He glanced down at the waves, moving lazily up the shore line. They looked tempting. "Will the water be cold if we go in?" he asked.

"...freezing," said Tony flatly.  "It's probably in the fifties. Plus, I didn't bring a towel.  If you want to jump in, be my guest, but I wouldn't get in for all the malt in Ireland."

He watched Steve's face, the way he leaned in to the ocean breeze, the dimples that appeared when he smiled, the brightness of his eyes.  Tony felt bad that Steve had been cooped up; he knew the guy loved being out here, running around like a maniac.

He pressed into the omega for warmth.  Steve was not only bigger than him but felt like he was about a million degrees, a side-effect of the serum and Steve's ridiculous metabolism.

"Maybe one day when it's sunny," Steve murmured, curling an arm around Tony's shoulder as he leaned into him. He sighed softly, his gaze drifting over the horizon and up into the wispy clouds above. It was still mostly a clear sky and it was gorgeous. The light pollution made it hard to see many stars but Steve could still count quite a few.  ...or maybe those were just airplanes. There were always airplanes in the sky in this century.

"You know, Sex on the Beach isn't merely a fruity cocktail for lightweight girls," said Tony after a moment.

A patter of fireworks flickered in the sky off to their left. Steve didn't look. His gaze fixed on the sea. Then he rolled his eyes fondly at Tony.

"You know, you're still drunk," Steve replied, squeezing Tony's shoulder. He wasn't slurring, at least. With enough persuasion he would admittedly give in. It was the new year. They were on a technically sort of public beach… it was exciting, Steve had to admit that. And it felt good to be sharing this with Tony. Really good.

"Steve, I'm always drunk.  It's the _New Year._  Come on, of all the nights to be drunk, tonight's the night," protested Tony.  "Besides, I'm not asking to be allowed to drive down Sunset Boulevard. I'm asking to share an intimate moment with my mate.  We're on a beach at night, in Malibu... this is one of the most romantic places in the world, on one of the most romantic days of the year... you know I love you, right?  ...did you make a resolution? I did. I'm gonna... I'm gonna be a better Alpha to you, Steve. No. Sorry. Not a better Alpha. A better _partner._ A better mate.  What you said, about not caring about me being dominant... if that's true... well... yeah."  He nuzzled Steve's neck, hanging off his arm.

The beach (this stretch of it, at least) was _technically_ public but, since it was off of Tony's residence, and Tony's residence happened to be surrounded by federally protected wildlands, it was almost always abandoned.  Now, in the middle of the night, Tony could almost believe he and Steve were the only people in the entire world, and that the crack of fireworks and pulsing bass beat of the music, far above them, was a world away.

"I care about _you_. That's what's true," Steve breathed and turned his head to lean down and kiss him. It was firm but brief. "I love you." He brushed the hair off of Tony's forehead gently with his fingertips. They stood like that for a moment, not saying anything with their foreheads just touching. It felt natural and intimate and Steve basked in the moment.

"One question," Steve said, opening his eyes again as he walked them back up the beach away from the waves so they could lie down in the sand. There was a flicker of mischief in his gaze. "If you get naked on a beach then surely sand gets in a lot of places it shouldn't," he pointed out, raising a brow as he rolled them over and straddled Tony's waist, rocking his hips back to tease against him.

Tony grinned.  "Yes. Yes it does.  So afterwards, we'll have to go take a shower together... or go skinny-dipping in the pool.  We can shoo out the reporters, if you want, go for a swim. Unlike the ocean, my pool is heated.  Should be a cool eighty degrees." (Steve had seen the steam rising off the pool into the cool night air earlier.)  (Tony had absolutely zeros qualms about being naked in front of his party guests; he'd probably slept with a good third of them, anyway.)

He bucked his hips up a little, smiling up at Steve.  "'Course we don't have to get fully naked, either. Although personally I prefer nudity in nearly all circumstances, as you know."

"I know very well," Steve hummed and leaned down to tug on Tony's bottom lip gently between his teeth. He had burst into laughter when Aria had seen Tony naked for the first time. She'd walked in with her usual coffee and seen a butt-naked Tony inches in front of her just as she walked into the kitchen.

There had been a lot of coffee _everywhere_.

Tony reached up to place a hand on Steve's stomach.  "Lay down for me, Steve?" he asked, his voice softer, less teasing and more sincere.

Tony's tone sounded different but Steve didn't frown, he just complied, trusting Tony explicitly as he rolled over beneath his Alpha. The sand was soft beneath him and he didn't care that it was getting in his hair and all over his clothes. This was actually going to be the first time they had sex since his heat. They'd both been sore and things had been… awkward. So this felt important.

Steve reached up, fingers brushing the rim of the arc reactor beneath his mate's shirt. "Are you okay, Tony?" he whispered.

Tony gave Steve a soft smile.  "I'm always okay," he said, reaching up to run his fingers through Steve's short, soft hair.

He put a knee on either side of Steve's thigh and pushed his shirt up, leaning down to kiss his abs.  Steve's skin was taut over the muscles and it twitched in response to the brush of Tony's lips. He sat back up and reached down to unzip Steve's pants, his hands reaching in to pull out Steve's length.  For a moment he stroked Steve idly, looking down at him while Steve smiled lazily up at him, his member slowly going stiff in Tony's hand.

Tony bent down; some small part of his brain protested but he shoved it aside easily and a moment later his lips were on Steve's cock, his hands on Steve's thighs, and he was gently kissing it, nosing the shaft and hesitating for only a split second before drawing it into his mouth.  He had to admit, he loved sucking on things. Of course, it was normally tits. Probably because he wasn't breast-fed as a child. _I'd make a good therapist,_ he thought to himself.  _This is easy.  Oral fixation. Obviously goes back to my childhood._

He had never willingly gone down on another man but it was like riding a bicycle.  It had been two years since he'd been forced onto his knees with a gun to his head, and they'd trained him well.  He was feeling too good to feel disgusted with himself; in fact, he felt like this was the first truly selfless thing he'd ever done.  Poor Steve. Nearly a century old and never had a blowjob. Tony's tongue traced his shaft, the veins, his lips grazing the head as he bobbed his head, feeling Steve grow hard, opening one eye lazily to check on Steve's reaction. 

Steve sighed contently as Tony's lips dragged over his abdomen. That was common routine, as was Tony stroking him. The foreplay had certainly improved over the period of their relationship, especially as Tony grew more comfortable with Steve's body and as Steve worked out what the hell to actually do. But _this_. This Steve hadn't anticipated or ever expected.

Steve sucked in a breath as Tony sucked him into his mouth. His instinct was to reach down and grip onto Tony but he didn't, letting his fingers twist into the sand. It felt like nothing else ever had before. He squirmed. He gasped. He whined. And he whimpered, his thighs trembling a little with the effort to thrust up into Tony's mouth. "Tony. You don't-- you don't have to… not if… oh, _fuck_ , wow."  Words soon died on his lips as Tony continued his ministrations, making him moan. Was this what it felt like for Tony? Was Steve this good? Did it really feel this good?

Tony pulled away the slightest bit.  "Is that good?" he asked quietly, breath ghostly over Steve's erection, fondling Steve's balls with one hand through his slacks.

The sea breeze felt strange as it met with his wet cock as Tony pulled off. But not unpleasant. Steve let out a high pitched sound before he managed a coherent answer. He was wet between his legs already. "It's… it's a lot more than good," he managed to finally get out, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy lidded.

Steve was making a lot of little noises that were very distinctively un-Captainly, but Tony found them encouraging.  "...you can cum, if you want," he said quietly. He leaned back down to lap at Steve's shaft before sliding it back into his mouth and giving it a long, slow pull, returning to bobbing his head.  Steve was squirming under him, his fists clenching and unclenching in the sand, his hips and thighs shivering under Tony. He was grateful that Steve wasn't thrusting, wasn't grabbing his hair or shoving him down, all things Tony had done to Steve without really thinking about it.  Tony may have been the more experienced one, but Steve was a much more considerate lover. But Tony had been sincere about wanting to be a better mate to him, more considerate. He knew he had a long way to go and there was a steep learning curve but... well, trying never hurt.

He ran his tongue over Steve's head and tasted a drop of precum; he shuddered a little, not sure if he liked it or not.

"Not gonna--" Steve let out a quiet gasp. "--last long like this,” he warned him, head tilted back in the sand as his eyes rolled back too. He trembled underneath him, squirming in the sand, his cheeks flushing as he grew closer and closer. And Steve really didn't think he could last long like this, even if he wanted to. Tony's mouth was wet and warm and inviting. Steve let out another undignified sound and hummed, unaware and uncaring about anything else round him aside from Tony.

He could feel that tug in his gut. Steve knew he was getting closer. He focused on Tony's hands on his thighs, which made it easier not to buck up into him. The last thing he wanted was to make him have flashback, or something. And Steve knew first hand how easy that could be. His mind soon went off line, though, as Tony teased at the head with his tongue.  Steve gasped. " _Oh fuck._ Tony. I'm gonna… I can't--"

Tony made a soft hum of encouragement to Steve, which was the closest he could come to saying it was okay considering his mouth was full.  He continued bobbing, Steve's cock slippery in his mouth with his saliva, dragging his tongue along it, eyes closed.

He didn't actually have a plan for what he would do when Steve came, whether he'd spit it out or swallow it.  He hadn't thought that far ahead. Although now would probably be a good time to consider it, since Steve was swelling in his mouth and twitching and spasming under him and he was tasting Steve's fluids.  Steve consistently swallowed but, again, Steve was a rather more considerate lover than Tony.

He tongued the edge of Steve's foreskin delicately, swiping his tongue over Steve's head again before slipping the shaft back into his mouth.  This was easier than Tony's other experience, not just because of the lack of the threat of imminent death, but also because Steve didn't have a knot.  Tony couldn't swallow his whole length but he could take a little more than half which, all things considered, he felt, was a decent amount.

That little hum of permission was all Steve needed to let go. It felt so good. So freaking good, and he was coming undone underneath Tony's grasp. The way he teased at Steve made him tremble and moan and it felt like Steve was floating. He aware of nothing but the feeling of Tony's mouth upon him.

"Oh Tony. _Fuck_. Feels good-- feels like--" Steve cut himself off with his own gasp, a quiet whine following. "I'm gonna--"

And then he did. Tony eased the orgasm out of him skillfully, Steve's whole body shaking beneath him as his climax washed over him. It was so hard not to thrust his hips up but he just about managed to stop himself. It felt good, no matter what. Steve was panting as he came down, easing his fingers out of the sand, his eyes finally focusing on the sky above and the hint of moon.

"So… _that's_ what that feels like."

Tony made the worst possible decision: both.

His mouth flooded and he choked, swallowed about half, then pulled off and gagged the rest into the sand.  Oh, fuck he could taste it.

"Yep... yep, that's what that feels like..." agreed Tony, spitting, trying to get the salty bitterness off his tongue.  He felt slightly queasy (a good part of that was probably a lot of drinking on an empty stomach) and he was trying not to throw up because he had an idea that puking immediately after sucking Steve off would ruin the memory for Steve.

He spat a few more times before reaching over to tuck Steve back into his pants, zip him back up, and then curl up against him, his head under Steve's arm, staring up at the sky with him.

"You don't have to--" Steve sighed. It was too late. He just gently pulled Tony back down with him, rubbing at his back as he curled against them. He leaned his head so it half rested on top of Tony's and let his eyes slip shut. He let the quiet wash over them for a moment. He savoured it before he broke it again.

"You want me to...?" Steve offered softly, running a hand down Tony's arm in a way his mate knew was suggestive. He could still feel Tony's arousal against his thigh but he wasn't if, after that, he wanted to do anything about it. Steve knew that had been a big deal for Tony and he felt touched that he'd...it meant a lot that he'd been willing to do that for Steve.

"...I'm okay," said Tony quietly.  "Thanks though." He closed his eyes, listening to the ocean, enjoying the cool breeze.  The sand was soft and cool beneath him but slowly heating up from the warmth of their bodies (mostly Steve's), and the world was rocking in that pleasant way it did when Tony was drunk.  He slipped an arm around Steve's waist, ready to fall asleep, aware that Steve would take care of him if he did.

It was a strange thing, trusting the omega to be the protective one.  But since when had Tony followed rules? Even though he couldn't remember Steve's exact words from the bedroom, he'd gotten the message and it had touched something in him, made him re-evaluate a lot of the elements of their relationship.

Tony was well-aware that a lot of his views were old-fashioned.  His father had been in a traditional trio, for example, with a proper wife and a subservient omega, and Tony was used to omegas being butlers and maids and things of that nature.  But Steve was slowly turning all that on its head and Tony wanted to help because wasn't that his thing, shaking things up, saving the world, making it better?

Or at least, it had been for the last two years.

Eventually Tony did fall asleep in Steve's arms. He curled around him, keeping the other warm as the ocean breeze tickled over them. He squeezed his arms around his mate and felt his own eyes dropping shut too. It was warm enough out and if he carried Tony back to the party they'd never get any sleep. He knew Pepper and Aria would be kicking people out around five; they could wait till then.

Steve eventually drifted to sleep too. He mercifully didn't dream.


	28. Media Leak: Secondary Alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Hope you had a great INFINITY WAR week! Don't worry: our works will never contain spoilers to movies that are still in theaters during the time they are posted, and in fact, often contain misdirections, so they are safe to read for those of you who don't have the opportunity to see things opening weekend.
> 
> If you're wondering what one of the authors was doing, the short answer was dressing up as Iron Man and meeting Tom Holland. (As expected, he's a very nice guy.) Shameless plug for potato-quality pictures: https://www.instagram.com/p/BiIHRGXgypb/ 
> 
> Re: this chapter and world-building. Because I can already hear the questions, I want to emphasize that it is extremely taboo for Alphas to enter into bonds with omegas who are already bonded. This is one reason omegas tend to like being bonded: it's a form of protection against all other Alphas. It's arguably more taboo for an Alpha to develop a bond with an already-bonded omega than it would be for two Alphas (acers or acesexuals) to be in a relationship. (Side note: omegas who are acesexual are considered straight, regardless of the gender of the Alpha. Alphas who are omegosexual are likewise considered straight, regardless of the gender of the omega. Most Alphas and omegas have secondary sex preferences.) I hope this clears up some of the societal aspects of our little A/b/o AU here.
> 
> Enjoy! - Tony aka Apollo
> 
> PS: Prepare yourselves for angst-angst-angst-angst-angst. #sorrynotsorry

When Steve woke up the sun was creeping up the sky and warming them both. The tide was a lot closer to them now, the sea brushing the edge of his toes. He hesitated before reaching down to bush Tony's hair from his eyes. "Hey," he whispered and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Wake up. We should head back," Steve said, moving to sweep the sand away from Tony's arms gently.

Tony woke up, sand covering and probably ruining his suit, which was worth about as much as a used sedan.

He blinked sleepily and looked around, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"...yeah," he said.  He put his arms out. "...carry me," he commanded.

Judging by the sun it was probably already seven or so.  The party guests capable of leaving would be gone. Tony always expected a few stragglers to be passed out on his couches, though.  No doubt the SHIELD agents and Pepper and Aria would still be there. He wondered if they'd been missed but dismissed the idea and wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, burying his face into the other's skin.  He wanted a hot shower and a nap. He'd had weird dreams, dreams about shells and guns and fields of tulips, and he was certain that they weren't his; they'd left him feeling more tired than if he hadn't slept at all.

"Yes sir," Steve replied bemusedly and moved to pick Tony up. He walked them out of the sand, his shoes covered in it as they headed out onto the grassy plane that stretched between the beach and cliffs that held up Tony's home.

When they got back to the house it looked about as awful as Steve expected. Happy was snoozing against the couch right by the door and Aria was ushering a very drunk woman and gentleman out the door. "Where the hell have you been?" she asked, peering over them both.

"We went to the beach," Steve said simply and walked past everyone in the kitchen: Pepper, Mac, Clint and Natasha. He headed upstairs towards the main bathroom, gently settling Tony down on a bench before he went to run the water hot.

"Do you think they're doing ok?" Aria murmured to Pepper as she settled back down with her coffee. "They look like they are."

"I think they're doing--" began Pepper, scrolling on her phone.  "-- _shit_!" she exclaimed, coughing on her tea.

Happy jolted awake briefly.  "Whaddya need?" he mumbled, blinking and looking around.

Pepper held out her phone to Aria.  The usual news sources, like AP and Huffington, had pictures of Tony and Steve embracing, kissing tenderly, balloons and streamers dropping around them.  But that wasn't what she was panicking about.

On the front page of Us Weekly was the same picture, but the caption had nothing to do with the party.   _'CAPTAIN AMERICA'S TWO ALPHAS: AN NONTRADITIONAL TRIO FOR A NONTRADITIONAL OMEGA.'_

"...shit... shit, shit, shit..." hissed Pepper, frantically scanning the article.  "... _identity of the other Alpha is currently unknown but sources close to the Captain confirm that Rogers' bond to aerospace engineer and weapons' manufacturer Tony Stark isn't his first..._ oh, shit, this is bad, how did they-- _no one_ knows but the people in this room-- Aria!"  Pepper looked at the other PA desperately, green eyes wide with panic.  She knew Tony well enough to know this was going to cause a meltdown. A massive one.

“Someone leaked this.  Someone told the press last night,” said Aria slowly.  “Steve being bonded before… that’s private.” She looked around suspiciously.

Pepper looked up.  There was no way Tony was going to handle this well.  Not if he felt that his mate-status was threatened.

“...what do we do?” she asked softly.

“Pray,” said Aria, who was an atheist.

* * *

_The sharp, clear image of Steve seated at a table flickers into focus. He's not looking his usual self. He's in a jumper, grey, with the hood slipping over the curve of one shoulder. His hair is unruly as such short hair can be and he looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days. There's heavy bags under his eyes and Steve looks too pale, too, like maybe he hasn't been eating properly._

_He's watching someone behind the camera. His interviewer. Steve has no happiness nor malice in his eyes. He has nothing._

_"How has the last week been for you?"_

_The voice that asks the question is soft and tentative. Steve's eyes search the woman's face behind the camera. The question makes him look like he wants to cry. He runs his hands over his face and shakes his head slowly. Steve sucks in a soft breath._

_He doesn't cry._

_"He won't speak to me. He's locked himself away. He won't speak to me."_

_His voice is quiet and uncharacteristic of a captain. Steve rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes._

_"Did he know about this?"_

_"Yes."_

_The interviewer goes quiet for a moment before she asks: "So why has it caused him so much pain, do you think?"_

_"Because he cares more about what people think than how I feel."_

_"What do you feel?"_

_"I have one mate. And it's him."_

_"And what do people think?"_

_"I don't know," Steve shrugs and he looks almost annoyed at the question. His eyes are watering now. "I don't know. That he’s a bad Alpha, or that I’m a bad omega.  Or that our bond is bad. You all-- you all think you know me but you don't."_

_His gaze drifts away from the camera._

_"This is your chance to tell your version of the story Steve," the interviewer says. She doesn't call him captain._

_Steve's eyes flicker back to her. He leans forward, head slowly falling into his hands. "I cannot explain to you what it feels like to be an omega in the forties. The closest I can describe is that-- that you do not feel like a person."_

_He lifts his head up and steeples his fingers under his chin, his hair even more of a mess. "I lived with a man after my mother died and I was left with no one. He was my friend. I depended on him for everything. I let him-- I let him bond me."_

_Steve swallows and pauses. The interviewer is patient. She says nothing._

_"He never touched me. We never mated.  He brought women home. He fed me, kept a roof over my head. I was just… another piece of furniture. I'd never felt so small in my entire life. It was the greatest shame in the world, not being good enough for him. I hated myself. I-- It was like the greatest shame in the world," Steve whispers and then rubs at his left eye. He refuses to cry.  A moment later, voice stronger, he explains, “So, it wasn’t even a real bond, not really. I was just his… houseomega.”_

_"Did things change after the serum?"  
_

_"The...the mark disappeared from my neck, and I couldn't feel him anymore. I thought it was gone. And then we barely spoke. And then he d-died--"_

_Steve presses a hand over his mouth._

_"Excuse me.  Sorry. ...I thought I didn't have a mate. When I mated Tony. I didn't know. I thought he was dead."_

_"But...he's not?"_

_Steve slowly shakes his head. “No.  The bond is just-- broken, I think. But he’s alive.”_

_"How did you find out he was alive?"_

_Steve swallows. "He...he tried to kill me and then he-- he...he gave me a m-miscarriage."_

_-Interview cuts.-_

_Steve looks like he's been crying when the camera comes back on. His cheeks are a little red and his eyes look watery._

_"Steve?" the interviewer prompts. "Are you okay now?"_

_The edge of his eye twitches._

_"Steve?"_

_"They've ruined everything." Steve whispers. "Everything I ever had. They don't want me to be happy."_

_"Who doesn't?"_

_Steve leans down and runs his fingers into his hair. "That's classified," he murmurs, voice rough._

_"What do you wish you could say to all those newspapers that published the story about your old mate? How do you feel about it?"_

_Steve lifts his head back up. There's fury in his eyes. "They are no better than the men who tried to buy me in the forties. If they saw me as a person, they would not define me by him.  I’m my own man. It shouldn’t matter if I’m an omega or if I have one or two or fifty Alphas."_

_"Wait, people tried to buy you?" the interviewer asks, sounding shocked. Steve almost smiles._

_"Oh.  Yeah. People tried to buy me.  People talked about me while I was right there in front of them, they ordered me around, they groped me-- the president included actually. Alphas tried to assault me in back alleys. I felt like the whole world was against me.  But I pushed back. I didn’t let the world win.” Steve looks away, gaze distant. “But this-- this might just be it. You know, it's like..." Steve trails off. After several long seconds of silence, he looks back up. “Y’know, screw this century.”_

_"...surely your mate should be supporting you through this?  Have you tried to contact him?"_

_Steve almost smiles again._

_"I'm used to handling things on my own," he whispers and his bottom lip trembles. "I'm sorry, I--"_

_-Interview cuts.-_

_STEVE ROGERS: THE REAL STORY_

_4.9 million likes_

_2.1 million shares_

* * *

"Tony," called Pepper, banging on the door.  It was one in the afternoon.

Outside, the sunshine was bright and brittle, and the mountains were covered in a heavy blanket of snow that glistened like diamonds.  Tony had been at the lodge for the last week, unplugged, which was unusual for him. Not unusual for him was wandering around in a pair of MIT sweatpants and drinking liquor straight from the bottle, listening to Excision instead of Pepper.

"Tony, it's time to get up."  She walked in; Tony was awake, lying on his back, an almost-empty bottle of gin nestled in the crook of his elbow.  "There's an interview with him you should read."

"No," said Tony, hoarsely.  Most of his answers over the last week had been monosyllabic.  Steve's name had become a forbidden word; he was simply "him."

"Do you want a shower?"

"No."

"Have you eaten anything today?  Here, let's get you up... Tony, please, I really think you need to see this interview.  It’s gone viral and everyone else has seen it.”

"...no."

"I'm going to read part of the transcript now.  _I have one mate.  And it's him._ "  Pepper looked at Tony to see if there was any reaction.  There wasn't. Tony had abandoned trimming his goatee and was getting a bit of a scruffy look.  He stared off into the middle-distance, his arc reactor bright on his bare chest. "...Tony. It would really mean a lot to me if you'd watch this interview."

"No."

"Please eat something."

"Ice cream."

Pepper blinked.  "...ice cream? Sure.  Fine. What kind?"

"Vanilla bean.  But melt it for me."

Pepper paused.  "...so... so you basically just want milk and sugar?"

"No," said Tony, finally focusing on her, looking royally impatient.  "I want _ice cream_ that's been _melted_."

"Okay," said Pepper quickly.  Normally she would have argued the point, but Tony hadn't eaten anything in thirty-six hours.  She slipped out of the bedroom and texted Aria to update her.

> _No change._

_ >I can't find him. It's a miracle he turned up to the interview. I don't even know why he did. He's ignoring my texts. And that was days ago, it's only just been released now which means he could even be in another country.  -A  
_

_ >Natasha and Clint can't even find him. He's hidden himself somewhere Pep. -A_

_ >I bet Tony could find him. If he looked. If he wanted to. -A_

* * *

The soldier was in the lab after hours.  He was watching the television, which Karpov had left on to keep him company.  Karpov was busy on the computer, occasionally yelling into the phone. They'd stop by to escort the twins, who had a meeting with Dr. Ludheim and Baron von Strucker.  Karpov was in a foul mood; the mere mention of Dr. Ludheim made his face twist in annoyance. So the soldier was pleasantly surprised he was being allowed to watch the television, and even more delighted to see the blonde omega he liked on the screen.

"-- _greatest shame in the world--_ "

His brow furrowed; a lump formed in his throat.

"--what's the point of having you working for them if you can't even keep tabs on him?" Karpov was yelling into the phone.  "He's either in Malibu or Westwood! Check one, then the other!" A pause. "Of course he hasn't sold the Westwood residence, he killed two of our agents there, no one in their right mind would buy the place now!"

" _Surely your mate should be supporting you through this?_ "

The soldier reached a hand out to touch the screen, heart aching.  "Stevie."

"--oh, really, Level Seven clearance?  And what good does that do you if you're losing track of the captain every other day, huh, Jasper?"  He slammed the phone down. "Incompetent idiots," he muttered darkly.

He spun around in his chair and pointed to the lab bench.  "Sit. Roll your sleeve up."

The soldier hopped onto the countertop and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm.  Karpov pulled out a small brown bottle and a syringe.

The door opened and Dr. Ludheim walked in, lab coat billowing behind her.

"...my God, your methods are medieval," she said.

"I wouldn't have to resort to such barbaric practices if you'd let us continue his electroshock."

"Also a hopelessly outdated practice.  You know we can target individual _genes_ now?"

"As undoubtedly advanced and expensive as your techniques are, Regina, I believe I've demonstrated quite effectively that my program works just fine," said Karpov, plunging the needle into the soldier's arm.  He immediately felt the warmth running down his veins, the wonderful sleepy feeling that came with it.

"Oh, really?  Is that why we have five of your six soldiers feral and frozen in Siberia?"

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about."

The soldier sidled off the counter and curled onto the floor, eyes going glassy.

He saw Dr. Ludheim looking down at him, her face framed by a fluorescent light, and for a moment, she looked like the Madonna.

He'd promised Sarah he would protect him.  He'd promised and he'd failed. He should be there, supporting his mate, like the lady on the television said...

"Good-night, Jimmy," said Dr. Ludheim with a smirk, and then he was unconscious.

* * *

"Oh Steve, you always were good at getting into messes," Peggy sighed fondly from where she lay back in bed. The Alpha had aged well. She recognised him and remembered most of the time they'd shared. A lot of her physical appearance had changed but she still had the same eyes; they still held the same kindness that they did before. She was gently running her fingers through his hair, Steve's head leant on the bed, his eyes half drooping shut. He'd only gotten into London that morning. He was tired from the jet lag and the fact that he was struggling to keep food down, which was very unlike him.

Peggy had known he and Bucky had been bonded. She had been the only one to know. She knew what he went through with that.

"Starks are stubborn men," Peggy said softly. "He'll come around in the end."

"...and what if he doesn't? What then?"

"Well, then he doesn't deserve you Steven," Peggy said simply and something sank in Steve's gut. He wished people would stop saying that. Like they knew what he deserved… like they all knew the terrible things Steve had done in the past in the name of justice. "Did you get a hotel? You must be exhausted."

"Yeah. I'll find one," Steve yawned and lifted his head up a little wearily to offer her a faint smile. It was late evening, probably a little late for Peggy to stay up. Steve didn't want to make her sick. "Can I come back tomorrow?" He asked.

"Of course," Peggy said, her voice a tad softer as her fingertips brushed over his cheek. "Oh you haven't aged a day, have you?" Her eyes glinted with a smile. "You bastard… yes. Come tomorrow. You can take me on my afternoon walk. Gertrude will be very jealous.  She’s the old crone who lives across the way."

"I can't wait," Steve said and smiled in return, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. He stood and leant down to kiss her cheek and say goodnight before he pulled away. He grabbed his rucksack on his way out and pulled the hood of his coat up against the London wind as he stepped outside.

He caught a random stream of trains, going between multiple tube stations, his hood up the whole time, before he finally stepped off and used his burner phone to find a hotel nearby. He paid with cash, not card, and headed upstairs for the night.

The hotel was cheap, dingy perhaps, but that meant less cameras around. Steve was not in the mood to be found.  He didn’t even know who he could trust; anyone at the party, anyone who had been there during his heat, could have leaked the story about his previous bond.

Whoever had done it had no doubt known the stigma of a secondary Alpha.  They’d done it with the intention of hurting Tony, and of tearing them apart.  And it had worked.

Steve was walking to his room when he heard a whistle behind him. He turned to see a man leaning against the corridor wall. He was smoking an e-cigarette; he was young and lean, like Steve (though not as fit as Steve, obviously). He had dark hair and a shadow of stubble across his jawline. He was handsome, Steve guessed, if you liked rugged Alphas.

"I wouldn't mind a piece of that." The man's smile was easy.

Cocky. Arrogant. Nothing new.

Steve's eyes narrowed. "You couldn't handle me," he replied coolly and slammed his hotel room door a little louder than necessary when he walked inside.

* * *

"Hey, buddy," said Rhodey delicately when he walked into the lodge.  Pepper had clued him in to Tony's hideout.

The high, vaulted ceiling with the exposed oak rafters and the massive stone fireplace were a far cry from the smooth white surfaces of Tony's Malibu manor.

"...what'd you want?" asked Tony sourly.  He was sitting cross-legged on the couch in his boxers, playing Grand Theft Auto on the Playstation.  Rhodey watched the car onscreen tearing around. Tony had let his facial hair go and he was wearing glasses instead of contacts.

"Just came by to say hi."  He looked around the room. Obviously Pepper was doing her best to keep things in order, but there was a plate on the floor and an odd sock lying on an armchair.

Rhodey swiped the sock aside and sat down while Tony ran over a couple of prostitutes.  He wasn't sure how to address the elephant in the room; Pepper had already warned him that Steve's name was forbidden.

"...you gonna... come back to work soon?"

"Nope."

"...you just gonna hide out here?"

"I'm not hiding."

"Have you left the lodge at all since..."  Rhodey paused. "...January first?"

"Nope."

"You know, Tony... at the party, Sam was hitting on me.  And I'm not into Alphas, or guys. But I shrugged and laughed it off and no one thinks any less of me for that.  You know what I'm saying?"

Tony ignored him, intent on the game.  The only part of him that moved was his hands, hitting buttons on the controller, toggling the joysticks.

"...Tony?"

"Watch me ramp off this building."

"Tony.  No one out there actually cares, you know.  St-- he made it very clear that there's only you.  Come on, you've had what, like thirty ex-girlfriends?  Weren't you engaged once for like forty-eight hours? You already knew he had an ex."

"You're not bonded.  You don't get it. Secondary Alphas are like fucking eunuchs, Rhodey.  And he's not an _ex_ anything.  They're _still_ bonded.  And sometimes I-- I can feel him."  Tony looked away. Rhodey winced as the red convertible Tony had been driving plowed into the side of a building, bursting into flames.

"Okay, well, that's... that's kinda shitty, but it's not worth locking yourself away like this."

"I'm not locked away.  I just don't want to leave."

"What about St-- him?"

" _He_ can go to his _other_ Alpha."

"Tony, let's be real, okay?  You only care about this because of a bunch of preconceived notions of what's normal.  You think of trios as an Alpha with two omegas, or a beta and an omega. But it's the twenty-first century, man, and sometimes trios have two Alphas, and it doesn't make you less of an Alpha, okay?  ...and anyways, it's a moot point, because he was very, very clear that you don't have a trio and you're his only Alpha."

"I'm not his Alpha."

"C'mon, Tony, don't say that.  You can't just sit around in your underpants playing video games and drinking rye whiskey and feeling sorry for yourself, all right?"

"Yes, I can.  I'm a billionaire," said Tony, teeth clenching a little.

"Tony.  You guys are still bonded.  You can still feel him. You still--"

"I don't feel anything anymore," interrupted Tony.  "...now watch me steal this guy's car."

* * *

Steve took Peggy for walks each day. He knew it couldn't last. Repetitive behaviour was dangerous and he didn't want SHIELD to find him. But Steve savoured every moment. Her willowy frame would lean on his as they traversed around the home's fancy gardens and Gertrude did watch on curiously, pretending to water her plants, drowning the flowers as she stared. On his last day, Peggy seemed sad when he told her he had to go, but she didn't seem surprised either.

"You could never sit still," Peggy breathed fondly. They moved to sit on a bench situated in front of an old oak tree. The trunk was hollowed out and sunken. It looked sick. "Promise you'll stay in touch, Steve?"

He placed a hand over hers. The skin was impossibly soft and loose.  "Of course."

"And promise you won't do anything reckless?"

"I'll be careful Peg."

It hurt to lie to her.

Steve left England that night. He rolled a die and then took a plane ticket to wherever it matched up. Steve ended up going to Moscow.  Hey, least he could speak half decent Russian now. Sure, he hadn't learnt to read it yet, but no one was perfect.

He caught a random series of buses before he got off to find a hotel nearby. He chose another dingy sort of place, kept it cheap. The woman at the desk eyed Steve warily. He rubbed at the back of his neck. It itched. It felt strange… Steve didn't know why. 

Or maybe he did. Maybe this Tony moving on and leaving Steve behind with the bond. It was painful but Alphas could do it. Omegas couldn't.

The thought made Steve feel sick. But he didn't have the time to worry about Tony right now. It was about time he did something for himself.

He took a while getting settled in. Steve had a long shower and dressed in a fresh set of clothes. Dark jeans and a navy sweatshirt. Then he unpacked the necessities. Toothbrush, computer and knife (courtesy of Natasha) which he left on the bedside. Getting it through airport security had been laughably easy.  Someone, thought Steve idly, oughta do something about that.

Steve towelled his hair dry and then reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found him.

Steve pressed dial.

"...Hello? Steve?  Are you there?"

"Don't bother pretending Jasper, really. You’re awfully bad at it."

An awkward laugh followed. "Excuse me… Captain?"

Steve gazed out at the city horizon from his hotel window. It was beautiful. "We both know you're tracing this call. It'll take you what, two minutes?"

"SHIELD will be relieved--"

"I'm not interested in SHIELD. I'm not talking about SHIELD. We both know who you're _really_ tracing this call for, Jasper."

There was a pregnant pause.

"H-how?"

The edge of Steve's lips quirked up in the hint of a smile. "I'm Captain America… that, and you had really obvious tells. We had HYDRA spies in my time, too, you know, and they never did like me either."

"I'm sorry, you think I’m a spy because I didn't _like_ you?"

Steve sighed almost whimsically. "And people say I'm too modest… call traced yet?"

"Why are you doing this? If you think I’m HYDRA, why do this and not call SHIELD to rat me out?"

"Well, you see, I finally decided on my New Year’s resolution and I wanted to treat myself."

"What resolution?"

"I want to see HYDRA _burn_. This has gotten way too personal.  This isn’t a SHIELD thing. This is a Steve Rogers thing.  And I figure, right now, it's easier if you come to me."

"You're insane," Sitwell huffed. Steve smiled properly.

"How long on the trace?"

No reply. Steve sighed. How rude.

Sitwell hung up.

* * *

"We've located the whereabouts of the captain, and of his mate," reported von Strucker.

Pierce tented his fingers thoughtfully and swiveled in his chair at the head of the table.  "Oh?"

"One's in Breckenridge, the other in Moscow."

Pierce hummed thoughtfully.  "Well. It only took you four weeks."

von Strucker said nothing to this.  "...what are your orders?"

"...your star pupils, they speak Russian, don't they?  And Karpov and his boy? Have them pay a visit to the captain.  I'm sure the witch can handle him easily enough."

"Yes, sir.  Hail, HYDRA."  He saluted, turned on his heel, and exited.


	29. Personal Vendetta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you black_hippy for noticing that I posted this chapter on Part 1 by accident. Whoops. No more beer for breakfast. - T

"For the last time," snarled Karpov into the phone, "the Winter Soldier program and Project Guiding Star are _two different programs_."

He was sitting on a bench in Venice Beach. Women in bikinis skated past and men on longboards rolled by. No one paid attention to him.

On the other side of the sidewalk, in the sand, Wanda was sitting under a palm tree, doing card tricks for a crowd of about a dozen people while Pietro and the soldier shared an ice cream cone.

"--the Winter Soldier project was to create super-soldiers using the serum. Project Guiding Star was about mind control. My program is _perfect,_ it's hardly my fault if you're dumping a bunch of unstable compounds into the soldiers I'm supposed to be programming! That's a variable I can't-- yes, of course the Winter Soldier is still-- now you listen, there were plenty of subjects enrolled in Project Guiding Star that _weren't_ enhanced and that I _never_ had a problem controlling so obviously it's not _my_ fault that-- _what?!_ Moscow??"

The crowd around Wanda all clapped as she guessed everyone's card correctly, and a few of them tossed her dollars. She handed them over to Pietro.

"Want to get another?" asked Pietro, licking the ice cream.

"Are we authorized?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"VASILY!" yelled Pietro. "James and I are going to get more ice cream!"

Karpov waved at him irritably. "--do you have any idea what I've been dealing with these last few weeks?" he hissed into the phone. A beach ball rolled past him. "And now you're telling me _neither_ of them is _even in the state_? ...my God. Fine. Wire me the money and we'll buy the tickets. ...yes, yes, between the witch and the soldier we'll easily be able to capture him. Yes, of course. Okay. Hail HYDRA."

He hung up and turned to speak to his soldier, only discover he was missing. He looked around, confused. "--Maximoff! Where are the boys?" he demanded, shading his eyes against the sun.

"They went to get ice cream," she called.

Karpov swore under his breath.

A block away, Pietro and the soldier were staring into a display case.

"You choose this time," said Pietro.

The soldier froze. He wasn't in the habit of _choosing_. He didn't make decisions, or have opinions. He stared anxiously down at the case.

"There's no wrong answer, just pick one. Come on, which do you like?"

_Coney Island. 1943. They had let a man take their picture for three nickels and they were buying ice cream._

"Chocolate," he blurted, looking over at the omega to see if he approved.

Pietro smiled. "Good decision."

Hesitantly, the soldier smiled back.

* * *

Steve knew he had time to get about five hours sleep. So he did. He would need it and then, he would be ready for them. Steve had been ready for this for a long time and now he had nothing else to lose, did he? Tony didn't want him. If he died, oh well. Who would care? America would, but fuck America. That country hadn't done shit for him as an omega.

He stared at himself in the mirror. The light in the room was ghoulish. It was around five in the morning. Steve didn't recognise himself.

He had chosen the hotel completely at random. The buildings on the street were packed tightly together which meant he could travel miles via just rooftops. He would need an escape route.

Steve dressed in all black. He had a knife in his boot, on in his wrist and two larger knives at his waist (courtesy of Natasha. A birthday present.) There was no need for a shield against HYDRA. Steve was fed up of being on the defensive. He pulled goggles over his eyes that let him see in the dark and could pick up on heat signatures too. It was StarkTech. Steve didn't like to think about that right now.

Steve tucked his phone into his back pocket and then left his hotel room without a second glance, going to take the stairs up to the roof. But when he stepped into the stairwell he heard a voice he recognised. The woman, the witch, who'd made their minds swap.

...well, shit. He'd been expecting a bunch of guys with guns that he could pummel. Not people with extrasensory abilities.

He backed straight out and then sprinted down the corridor, heading to the second stairwell. Steve _needed_ to get up onto the roof.

Outside it was freezing cold and snowing lightly. The roof should have been abandoned, at such a dark, early hour and in such weather. But there was a single line of footsteps in the snow, fresh, the drag of the heels indicating that whoever had made them had been running.

"Здравствуйте."

There was another omega there. The one from the base in Cuba. He was in a light windbreaker that seemed completely inappropriate considering the weather. The snowflakes were powdering his long, silver-blond hair; he shook them off, watching Steve.

"You don't look so good. You know, Moscow isn't the best vacation spot for your health. The air here..." He waved. "...it's terrible." He looked over Steve's outfit critically, not moving, seemingly utterly unconcerned with the thought that Steve might do him any harm.

Steve froze on the rooftop. He knew how the kid got here up so quick but that didn't make it any less disconcerting. Steve didn't step away; in fact, he stepped closer. He wasn't afraid of the other omega.

"What the hell are you still doing with these people? You can literally run away." Steve said. He reached up to push his goggles up to his forehead so he could look into the omega's eyes. "You're better than HYDRA. You're not one of them," he breathed, voice steady with conviction. "Show me where the HYDRA men are and I'll get rid of them."

The omega raised an eyebrow at Steve and barked out a laugh. "You're right that I am not one of them, and that I am better than them. Us rabbits, we're often underappreciated, aren't we? You know this. I could pose the same question to you, though. Why are you still with SHIELD? You're not one of them. You're better than them. They don't appreciate or care for you. You're, to them, only a means to an end. You and I, as rabbits... we're both being used. So why am I with HYDRA? Because they took me and my sister in when no one else would." He flicked his head again, to dust away the snow from his hair. "After Stark killed my whole family, my sister and I were left to fend for ourselves. We wouldn't be separated. But I am an omega, and we couldn't find any refugee camps that would let us stay together. HYDRA gave us a home. Not a very good one. But, as you said yourself in an interview recently... well, you take what you can. Someone puts a roof over your head and feeds you, and you feel gratitude toward that person. Speaking of that person..." The omega fixed Steve with a look. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, but his eyes were much older, a strange amber color that looked permanently wary. "...now that Stark has left you, you could be with him now, you know."

"Do I look I'm with SHIELD? I could have called them, but I didn't. I called HYDRA. Because I don't need them as my crutch anymore," Steve said, words even and calm. "I can make my own justice." He could hear the echo of steps on the stairwell below. He heard the creek of a door handle. One of Steve's hands moved to his waist.

He didn't bother saying anything about Stark. Steve wasn't about to apologise on Tony's behalf.

"He gave me a miscarriage," Steve said. "He strangled me. He tried to kidnap me. And he treated me like shit before. Unless he suddenly takes out half of HYDRA for me, I don't think I'll be going from one abusive relationship into another, thank you." Steve said, voice full of bitterness.

And then he blinked. Did he just use the word abusive to describe him and Tony? What the fuck? Tony had been a far better mate than Bucky.

...had been.

Also, Tony hadn't _left_ him. He'd more just... decided to neglect Steve's entire existence as of late. They were still bonded; Steve could feel him, faintly, in the back of his mind.

"Take out all of the HYDRA members that are with you out ,and I get you somewhere safe. I can look after you and your sister. Without a means to an end," Steve breathed. "I mean it."

The blond's gaze followed Steve's hand as it traveled to his waist. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, calmly. "If there's anything I've learned, Rogers, it's that everyone has an agenda. My sister and I have been alone since we were ten, and nothing is given for free. Things that are free are _taken_. You can't even look after yourself; you let Stark bond you." Disgust dripped from his words. "James did what he was told to do. He isn't bad. Only confused. To be honest, I consider him a friend. He's a better man than Stark. I don't know what you two had, but he's never treated me poorly."

"HYDRA tortured him. I've read the files. They tortured him for years. They fucked his head, they've put controls in his brain. They took a way everything that made him a person. They hurt and tore apart a man that I loved and then made him come after me, made him _hunt_ me down. You know what they did to him made me think our bond was _gone_ ? They took so much of him away that I couldn't even feel him anymore!" Steve said and he was shaking. He was shaking with rage. He'd never said this before. Never said it anyone and it had been building up inside of him all this time. He was _fuming_.

"Captain," said a female voice behind him.

Unlike her brother, she was wearing a heavy coat and a hat; her hands were buried deep in her pockets. Perhaps because of the thickness of the coat and the fur collar, or the loose hair sticking out of the hat, she looked younger than Steve remembered. Like a high school kid.

"You think we're the bad guys, don't you? You're the protagonist of this little story. Life isn't a fairy tale, Captain. Life doesn't have heroes, or villains. Life doesn't care about you or your story. Let me tell you about our story. We were alone. We were hungry, and cold, and scared. HYDRA took us in. They did the same for James. And now we're offering you the same opportunity. Has SHIELD really been so kind to you? Hm? Of course I know your history; HYDRA was your enemy, seventy years ago. But what do you know about what it does now? It was the only place that took in Pietro and I." She gave a nod to her brother.

He nodded back.

"I'm not pretending to be a hero. I'm just a guy from Brooklyn trying to make a difference in the world. I just want HYDRA to leave me the hell alone. But no. They want to take me in and breed me and don't tell me they don't, because I heard it. I read it. There is no freedom in that for me. I would rather die. So, the way I see it, it's me or them. The fight between us won't end 'til one of us is destroyed. I can either run, or right. And I've made my choice. Now I'm gonna walk away from this, because I don't want to hurt you two, because you're not HYDRA. They're the ones who are gonna be sorry. But I _will_ fight you if I have to."

"You won't win," said Pietro flatly. "If you love James so much, come back to him. He misses you, you know. He's downstairs. You could go to him, right now. He's still in there. You have nowhere else to go, so why not?"

"Why not?" echoed the girl behind him, stepping forward. The snow made soft squeak-crunches beneath her boots. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and wriggled her fingers, like she was trying to warm them up. And suddenly Steve was struck with a sense of... yes, that was exactly the word for it, warmth. It wasn't a comfortable warmth, but the kind of sharp warmth that preceded a heat or a battle. It made him feel jittery, and a little sick, and slightly disoriented.

"If you cooperate, things could be better," said Pietro, and Steve realized he was holding a knife. No, not _a_ knife. One of Steve's knives. He was twirling it with a bored look, as if he were alone.

"I will not walk into HYDRA's arms..." Steve said, shaking his head. He was physically trembling and Pietro had a knife and fuck his head hurt. He couldn't see straight. He stumbled. "What...what are you doing..."

"Please. Don't do this." Steve wheezed. "My fight is with HYDRA. Not with you. If you do this, you'll regret this. This will be it. SHIELD will come after you and maybe kill you and I won't be able to protect--" Steve clutched at his head. "What are you doing to me?"

"What is SHIELD?" asked Pietro.

Wanda merely shrugged, brows knitted in concentration, hands drawing intricate shapes in the air.

Steve swore he could see fire or gauze or something, and it was stretching, and he could almost feel his body growing, time pulling his body in two directions, his spine elongating, his muscles pulling out like taffy, spooling out like string. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant feeling, but very uncanny.

Pietro was there, but he couldn't tell if he was very close or very far away. He opened his mouth and his lips moved but there was no sound. Fine gold strands of smoke twisting away from his mouth.

Then there was his sister, her eyes blazing red, and her mouth was moving too, her words coming out as spiky black liquid metal, sinking to the ground and splashing into nothingness.

"Steve..." That was Tony's voice.

"...Steve?"

Someone was calling him from very far away.

_"...Steve? ...Steve!"_

They were getting farther. Or maybe closer.

 _"..._ hey, Steve. _Stevie_. Wake up, you goddamn horseshoe."

Yes. Closer. The voice was fading in, and Steve was suddenly aware of music playing faintly from an old record.

_"Don't dance all night with me..._

_Till the stars fade from above._

_They'll see it's alright with me..._

_People will say we're in love."_

The music faded and there was the soft sound from the needle skipping along the record; Steve heard someone replacing the needle and the same song began playing again.

"Stevie, wake _up_." A male voice was coming in clearly, a strong voice with a New York accent, filled with charm. "We're late, pal. The reservations are for six. I already laid out your clothes. Come on, lazy bones, get up!" A firm hand on Steve's shoulder was shaking him insistently.

That voice... Steve had heard it on the radio... he had heard it in '43...

"Stevie, so help me God, if you make us late, I'll find a way to make you skinny again. Rise and shine! You can't lay on that couch all day. Now, come on, I gotta girl to meet, you're gonna make me look bad."

The record continued playing; suddenly, someone was heaving Steve up physically.

" _Oof,_ you're heavy... upsy-daisy, Steve, there you are!"

Someone patted his chest. The room was resolving slowly, its surroundings shockingly familiar. The wallpaper was beige, the furniture light tan, the floor hardwood. It was small, cozy. Steve knew this apartment. He knew this apartment very, very well, because he'd lived here throughout his childhood.

There was a mirror on the wall, and the other man was cinching up a tie, his back to Steve. He was wearing a mauve shirt and a grey pinstripe waistcoat; his shoes were shined to a sharp black gleam.

He caught Steve's eye in the mirror on the wall where he was combing his hair, and smiled. His pencil mustache was neatly trimmed and Steve could smell a faint trace of his cologne. "What'd, you hit your head or something? We're going out to Baby's, Steve, remember? I've been planning this for weeks. Don't tell me you don't remember."

On the coffee table there was a newspaper. "Allied Bombers Attack Maastricht; Heavy Casualties Reported," read the headline. Another article on the same page: "Churchill Arrives in Italy, Pledges Support Against Japs."

The other man turned around suddenly, snapping his fingers at Steve. "Wake _up,_ Steve."

Steve hadn't seen Howard Stark in over seventy years, but there he was, in the flesh, looking exasperated in a friendly kind of way.

He walked over, grabbing Steve's head playfully and kissing his hair. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Come on, buddy, you're on leave. Try to relax, will you? Don't look at those old papers, they'll depress the hell out of ya. A night of dancing will do you good." He swept the newspapers off the table with one arm, the other thrown over Steve's shoulders. "You gonna get dressed, or should I just take you out like this? Don't make me do it, Steve..." he warned teasingly. One of his hands slid teasingly over Steve's shoulder; Steve was in a thin undershirt and his boxers.

"I don't like dancing," Steve said, the words spilling out of him automatically as images flashed through his mind. Images of Bucky dancing and laughing with girls whilst he made Steve sick in the corner of watch. It was like he enjoyed making his omega squirm, feel humiliated. Steve hated those dates the worst. Buck always laughed and smiled so much when he danced, looked so handsome. He never looked that happy with Steve.

"Howard." Steve's hand snapped up, catching the other's wrist. He could easily break it. But he wouldn't. Steve stood and moved away from him. His head throbbed. He was confused. Since when did Howard come into his room unannounced and give him clothes to wear? And since when was he on _leave_? Steve didn't remember being granted leave...

Everything felt wrong, and sinister, but Steve couldn't place what, precisely, was wrong.

Howard smiled at him, the curve of his lips practically wicked.

"When...when did we get here?" Steve rubbed a hand over his face and yawned, blinking blearily. "I don't remember--"

"Oh Stevie. You know, they say blondes are airheads for a reason."

He frowned at that and stood, moving to grab clothes to just not be naked in front of the other. Steve heard a tapping sound and ignored it. He busied himself with buttoning up his shirt and then pulling on trousers. Howard made a sad sound as his long legs disappeared under dark grey fabric. Steve rolled his eyes. The Alpha really was awful.

The tapping persisted. He ignored it.

"Come on, let's go," Howard said, curling an arm around his waist. Steve let him lead him out, still honestly half asleep. He grabbed his jacket off the clothes hook by the door. His ma's coat wasn't hung up there. Now that just wasn't....right. Was she out? A double-shift at the hospital, maybe?

"Hang on." Steve felt around his pockets. "I need my keys."

He went to grab them off the dresser.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!_

Steve's eyes shot up, his hand hovering over his keys. There was a red headed woman outside the window, tapping wildly at it. She was speaking to him but no noise made it through the glass. She looked afraid.

What really confused Steve was how this woman could be at the window when they were on the 4th floor of the apartment block.

"...Steve?" Howard's unsure voice was sour in his ears.

Steve frowned deeply as he followed the curve of the woman's lips. She was screaming. The same word over and over and soon Steve could make it out.

 _Run_.

A shiver ran down his spine and he straightened up.

"Come on," Howard's fingers curled over his elbow. Steve looked up into the man's dark eyes. They were so familiar. "We're going to be late."

Steve tugged out of his grasp and pulled away from him. And without another word he pulled open the sash, climbed out of the window, and fell.

He woke up with a face pressed into snow. Steve was shivering, his eyes glassy. He tried to stand. "F-fuck..."

* * *

Karpov was standing across the street from the hotel, his beret and military coat on, shoulders hunched against the cold.

The asset stood beside him, in a long coat, the snow clinging to his hair.

Karpov's radio crackled.

"He's down. For now."

"Good." He turned to the soldier. "Go fetch him. The blond. Bring him alive. No lethal force." Karpov had asked about inducers but intelligence from SHIELD reported that Steve had worked up an immunity to them. He'd also asked about tranqs but no one was sure what sort of tranq would work on Captain America; anything that would work on a normal human wouldn't do, but they didn't want to overdo it for fear of hurting him. In the end, they'd decided to leave it up to the witch and the asset to haul him in.

Karpov was fine with that plan, since it was a win-win for him. If he succeeded then that was good for HYDRA; if he failed, he could blame the witch. He was sick of babysitting Strucker's brats.

The soldier crossed the narrow, snowy, empty street toward the motel on the other side and let himself in, making a beeline for the stairwell. It was eerily empty and echoed. He climbed up the stairs purposefully.

_Run._

He stopped short and scanned the stairwell. Had he just heard that or thought it? If he'd thought it, where had the thought come from? He felt a strange sense of anxiety that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

He shook it off and continued his climb to the roof. He did not want to fail Karpov again.

The door to the roof was locked but he grabbed the knob with his left hand and easily shouldered it open. The rooftop was snowy, poor visibility. He squinted, cautiously making his way out onto the roof. Yes, there was a dark figure lying on the ground. Probably his target. And to his left another figure, though he couldn't see who, but figured it was one of the twins. He gave a small, sharp nod of greeting to them, not breaking his stride as he approached the figure lying on the ground.

Steve heard the Winter Soldier's footsteps and went still like a wild animal caught in the grass, his fingers clenched in the snow. His cheek was freezing, almost painfully so, but it had woken him up the second he'd fallen to the floor. Whatever he'd just seen hadn't been real, had it? But it was so clear cut and precise. Howard's face had been so sharp and yet he hadn't really been there. Steve hadn't seen that face for seventy years.

He waited, listening intently as the soldier got closer. As Bucky got closer. Was there a difference between them? Time to find out.

The looked down at the blond and for a moment he was frozen; he had a memory, a memory of a woman saying, " _Shouldn't your mate be supporting you through this_?" He didn't know where it was from but it stopped him, and he felt like he was on the cusp of remembering something, something important.

But before he could remember, the previously limp form scrambled to its feet, knocked him over, and tore off.

Steve twisted around, lightning-fast, and hooked a foot around his ankle, using all his strength to drag him to the ground whilst he twisted around to jump to his feet. Wanda cried out.

And then Steve sprinted and jumped, just landing on the rooftop next to their building before running on to the next. The snow was making the landing and take off harder than he'd anticipated.

The asset didn't think; he reacted. He was after the blond in an instant, all semblance of thought gone.

The blond jumped the span of two buildings, rolled, kept running. He jumped onto another building, he was skidding and slipping in the snow, and so was the soldier, and it would have been comical if the stakes hadn't felt so high.

He was getting away.

And then, just like that, there was someone in front of Steve and he slammed into them and the two went sprawling across the rooftop, sliding several feet in the snow. Someone was swearing, loudly, in Russian. "Oh, fuck, I think he broke my arm!"

"Pietro!" yelled Wanda.

When Steve slammed into Pietro it hurt. He hadn't seen the omega get in front of them; Pietro had simply suddenly been there and there had been no time to avoid slamming into him. He hadn't broken anything but he had certainly hurt the other and his left ankle throbbed in a way it shouldn't. The other omega seemed in a much worse way than him. Steve felt bad but he also couldn't afford the other coming after him.

The asset hopped the roof, nearly falling off, and staggered over to the tangle of blond omegas on the roof.

 _Shouldn't your mate be supporting you through this_?

So much confusion. Two blond omegas. One was his friend, he thought, maybe; maybe both were; but wasn't one a target; he barely remembered his orders; fuck; everything had been so confusing lately, half-memories and almost-thoughts... he had been out of cry too long... this was Dr. Ludheim's fault, according to Karpov...

He strode over and held out his right hand to help them to their feet; the two were a tangle of limbs.

"I'm sorry," Steve gasped out and then drove a knife through Pietro's hand and into the roof.

Pietro let out an ear-splitting scream and suddenly the pure white was splattered with crimson.

Steve twisted around just in time to kick the Winter Soldier's hand away, rolling across the snow and out of his grasp before he made to jump onto the next roof. But his ankle gave way as he jumped--

The soldier watched in horror as he nearly fell; Karpov had been very clear about taking him alive. But he managed to grab the edge of the building and after a brief, dangerous claw, he was dragging himself up.

Steve _just_ caught the edge of the roof. He scrabbled for purchase, his hands slippery with snow. He didn't need to look down to know how far the drop went. "Fuck. Oh my God. Come on. Come on! Goddammit!" he grunted as he pulled himself up onto the roof, his ankle throbbing. Fuck. He was fucked. Steve had under estimated this; he didn't think they would send the witch. Why didn't he goddamn think?!

Maybe Steve had secretly wanted this. He didn't know. He'd always been self-destructive.

The asset was kneeling to help Pietro. It wasn't his primary objective but his friend was hurt and he couldn't just leave him here.

He felt eyes on him; he looked up.

Two rooftops away, the girl was standing on the edge, her hair billowing around her, and the asset felt his blood run cold because even from here, he could feel the heat of her fury. She'd seen the knife, seen the blood.

Her hands were out and the blond on the roof was knocked over, skittering dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" barked the asset. "We take him alive!" He yanked off his coat to press it around Pietro's hand, then, feeling awful for abandoning his friend, tore off across the roof. She was going to kill him if he didn't stop her.

Her long fingers were taut and the asset could see the energy crackling between them; he threw himself across the alley between the buildings. The blond was still struggling to get up--

_"I can do this all day."_

_"Hey! Pick on someone your own size! ...Stevie, what the hell's the matter with you..."_

The soldier stumbled, confused by the memory, but he was here, that as all that mattered, the target was in front of him.

Wanda was still visible a few roofs away, above them, furious--

He threw himself over the omega, protecting his body. The movement was instinctual, natural.

Steve cried out as some unknown force plowed him into the snow, and his ankle screamed in protest. He trembled as he pushed himself up, fingers going numb in the snow. His goggles had been ripped off of his forehead and he couldn't see anything aside from the whiteness of the snow.

 _Bucky_.

He had thought the Winter Soldier was going to kick him, or pick him up or point a gun at him but not... not this.

Steve went still as the Alpha's body blanketed his own. He was warm and a little broader than Steve, even though he wasn't quite as tall. He swallowed, waiting for a hand around his neck or a knife or... something. But there was nothing. The Winter Soldier wasn't hurting him. He was _protecting_ him.

Tears threatened to well up in Steve's eyes.

 _He remembers. Something._ There was something making him shield Steve like this with his own body. _He remembers_.

"JAMES, MOVE!"

"No!" he barked. This close, he could smell him. It only reinforced what he was doing. He had to protect him with himself, had to lie on him like this. _I thought he was smaller_ , he thought vaguely, not sure what that meant or why he was thinking it.

"Don't hurt them!" yelled Pietro in a strangled voice that was tight with pain. He was kneeling, still clutching his curled, bleeding hand.

Steve tried to move. Bucky was heavy on top of him. "Bucky," he said, his voice a little shaky. "Bucky. You've got to let me go. Please. Bucky."

_Bucky._

He didn't move. The snow was drifting down around them but he didn't dare get up. The word confused him. It was like catching a whiff of some unidentifiable and yet incredibly familiar smell. He liked that word. He liked the way the omega said it.

He reached up with his right hand to hold the other's wrist, then nuzzled against the back of his neck.

Yes.

Steve's breath hitched and he froze as Bucky nuzzled into the back of his neck.

The radio at his belt crackled and he heard Karpov's voice. It snapped him out of his reverie.

" _Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на Родину. Один. Товарный вагон."_

_Primary objective: take the blond. Take him alive._

What did those words mean? They were random. Steve wasn't sure he even understood all of them but they clearly meant something to the soldier. Who snapped. The cold metal fingers against his neck were choking and all of a sudden Steve was struggling to breathe. And he was no longer frozen. Steve _writhed_.

He tried to elbow him. He kicked at him. He went to grab a knife at his waist but Bucky slammed his arm down with his other, Steve's other arm trapped under his own hip. "No! No! Bucky! Please!"

His words were fragments. Steve stuttered, metal fingers tightening as he tried to shout.

No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

_What had he done?_

The soldier held his prize by back of his neck, gripping as hard as he could short of crushing the other's neck, pressing him into the snow. The omega squirmed beneath him.

 _"_ У меня есть его."

"хорошая работа, солдат."

He got goosebumps from the praise. Karpov rarely ever praised him. He lay there, holding the blond down. Once Karpov and the witch came, they could bundle him up and take him back to base and that would be that. There was probably a half-pack of cigarettes for it in him, too.

All in all this was turning out to be an excellent day.

"Bucky. Please. Come on. You don't want to do this. You don't," Steve said, voice a touch softer now. But it still had tremble in it. "Don't you remember?" He asked and moved his body under the other's suggestively, his hot breath clouding in the air in front of his face.

Noise.

The blond was making a lot of noise, all of it in English. The soldier ignored him, waiting.

The blond wiggled under him and he felt a twitch between his legs.

No. He couldn't mate him. Mating him would kill him. Orders were to take him alive.

Wait.

The soldier felt terribly confused. Relief flooded him when he heard the sound of footsteps in snow approaching. His body was going stiff with the cold, and so was the omega's beneath him. Luckily his left arm didn't have that problem; his grip remained firm.

Karpov crouched in front of them, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Hello, Captain," he said with a smile. He reached out and patted the asset's head.

More footsteps. The witch. The asset was glad; once she put him to sleep he could get up, toss him over the soldier, and take him someplace warm.

"You called us. We came. Surely you're happy with the way this has all turned out?" said Karpov. "It's what you wanted. To assume your rightful place in the world, as an omega." He gave Steve a vicious little grin.

 _You called us_.

Steve pointedly didn't even look at Karpov, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. His eyes were glazed over. His heart throbbed in his chest. Bucky wasn't going to turn on HYDRA for him. Maybe a small part of Steve had hoped he would. Maybe he really had been that foolish.

He didn't say anything, his jaw tight with resolve. Karpov laughed, apparently amused by Steve's attitude. Steve imagined plunging a knife into the man's neck. But the grip of that damned metal arm was unrelenting. Still, he had a small knife tucked under his sleeve. All Steve had to do was get close enough. If he could get Karpov maybe he could turn this whole thing around. _Maybe_.

Then finally Steve's eyes landed on Karpov's face, red and watery with the snow.

"Fight me yourself and we'll see who the 'omega' is," he breathed, voice trembling.

"Fight you myself? That would hardly be fair. After all, you've been artificially enhanced. This isn't your true self. Not physically. And not socially. No. There's nothing natural about you. But we'll fix that. Witch?"

A pair of red eyes appeared in front of Steve's.

" _...you hurt my brother,_ " she hissed. A moment later, Steve was--

* * *

"--Tony?"

Tony looked up blearily, his eyes red. He had a full beard; he was lying in bed with an empty bottle of whiskey. Pepper walked over and tugged the bottle away. He didn't resist.

"I miss him."

"...oh, sweetie..." Pepper sat delicately on the end of the bed and reached over to take one of Tony's well-calloused hands in her own. "You can go get him back, Tony. He loves you. You're bonded. I know how sensitive you are about... some things. But it's time to let go. Steve is more important."

"I'm cold, Pepper. I'm so fucking cold."

He was. His hands were like ice. Pepper rubbed his hand between hers,trying to warm him up. "I'll get you another blanket," she said, rising. Tony was already under two comforters but he was shivering noticeably. He'd been acting weird (well, weird _er)_ all day.

Tony pulled his pillow over his head, feeling awful, shaky and weak and cold. He found himself hoping that, where ever Steve was, he was having a better day.

* * *

Clint woke up to a strange blue light in their bedroom. It was 4 am. He groaned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He blinked slowly to see Natasha sat the desk against the wall, staring at the blue computer screen before her. She didn't look like she'd slept, her eyes almost watering.

"Nat?" Clint croaked. "What the hell?"

Natasha turned to him slowly, the edge of her lips twitched. "I lost him. I can't find him."

Clint sighed. "Maybe he just got good. You did train him, Nat," he pointed out, voice thick with sleep. "If you want, we could always tell SHIELD--"

"They'll be mad I didn't tell them where Steve was in the first place."

"You were respecting the privacy he so very clearly needed," Clint said. "But if you're really worried then his privacy goes out the window. If Steve is in trouble then SHIELD can help. If he isn't in trouble then his little joy ride is over sooner than he'd like. Better to be safe rather than sorry, right?"

"I tried to call Pepper. To ask if Stark was feeling anything," Natasha murmured. "She didn't picked up. Aria hasn't heard anything either. Maybe Steve just did get out from under my radar." She sounded doubtful. "Or maybe..."

"Or maybe something happened," Clint finished for her. He grunted, reaching over to grab his phone from the nightstand. "You call Sam. I'll call Phil."


	30. Prisoner of War, part I

Steve snapped awake when the jet hit turbulence.

He immediately knew he was in the air because of the small window to his right. He could see clouds and the pinkish tinge of the sun rising through the sky. His head throbbed and so did his ankle. They were bruises on his neck. He could feel them.

He screwed his eyes shut and leaned against the wall, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

His hands were fastened with some kind of shackles behind in his back. Even if the knife was still under his sleeve, he had no way of getting to it. His hands were fixed a good five inches apart. It was uncomfortable. They hadn't fastened his legs together; with his ankle they needn't have bothered.  It was possibly broken, definitely sprained.

The room he was in was small, practically a cell, his feet almost touching the opposite wall. With a pained grunt he managed to get himself up on his right leg alone. He moved to try and open the door.  Locked. Of course. Steve stared out of the window, at a peek of sunlight streaming up through the clouds.

This was all on him. He'd done this to himself. Jesus Christ. Maybe they were right. Maybe the ice had fucked him up in the head.  Or maybe he really was as self-destructively stupid as everyone said.  It had never occurred to him they'd send a mutant who could get into his head.  He'd just assumed it would be guys with guns.

In the end they'd only sent one guy with a gun. 

Bucky.

* * *

The asset sat at Karpov's feet, watching as he bandaged the omega's hand.  Karpov had military training, years of it, and it was coming in handy. The omega winced and hissed; the girl stood by him, emanating fury.

"After saying he wouldn't fight us," she grumbled bitterly.

"He did what I would have done," said Pietro, wincing unhappily.  He flexed his fingers. "It is fine. No real damage. It just hurts.  But more importantly, we've paid our debt. Stark for Rogers. That was the deal."

"Yes, yes, you'll get him once we get the captain somewhere secure," said Karpov impatiently.

"...can I see him?" asked the soldier suddenly, looking up.  He felt drawn to the omega in the cargo hold, the one he'd helped search and disarm and tie up and carry to the plane.

Karpov frowned.  "Patience, soldier.  I'll make sure you have first mating rights."

The asset had no idea what he meant; he just wanted to see him.  "But I want to see him," he persisted.

"You see, this sort of insolence, this Ludheim doesn't have to deal with, this is why she doesn't care if we let all your programming go to hell.  You used to be so much better and now you're constantly asking questions.  You've been out of cryo too long and you've become annoying."

"I'm sorry, Colonel."

"I want to see him, too," said the girl suddenly, eyes flashing.

Karpov slammed a fist onto the table in front of him; they all jumped and Pietro hissed with pain.

"You'll get to see him _once he is secure_.  We have another two hours before we get to Yemen.  So until then I don't want to hear any debate."

"Yemen?" repeated the girl curiously.

"It has the base best equipped to handle him.  A very nice little cell with adimantimun bars and a thick blanket on the floor for him to sleep on.  No doubt Stark's been pampering him."

"Stark," repeated the soldier, brow furrowing.

Karpov swore.  Watching his perfect asset's programming slowly unravel was a terrible thing, like watching a beloved old dog get sick and slow.

"Come, soldier, let's go.  Time for your medicine," said Karpov, rising, and the soldier rose with him, eager for it, forgetting all about the name of Stark and the blond omega in their cargo hold.

* * *

Steve fell asleep again. He couldn't deny that he was exhausted. Keeping himself hidden from both SHIELD and HYDRA had been no mean feat. He liked to think Natasha was secretly proud of him, if a little annoyed.

He was woken when the jet landed; the vibrations on his ankle were excruciating. Steve immediately tensed, knowing they would be coming for him. He steeled himself for when the door opened, debating whether he ought to try to fight, or run, or bide his time.

There were three of them outside the door.  The girl, the one they called the witch.  A man with a gun, and in front of him, Bucky.  No. The _Winter Soldier_. Bucky wouldn't have done this to him.

Sure, he was a jerk, and a cad; he slept around; he didn't always treat Steve like he should.  But he kept him safe.  He cared for him when he got sick. Maybe he hadn't been a good mate but he'd been a good friend.

Karpov told him not to be difficult and Steve wasn't. He was all too aware of the girl.  He would have to plan an escape later, when she wasn't there.

He hobbled off of the jet with his back soldier-straight, his head held high, trying not to reveal just how bad his ankle was paining him. Struggling now would just lead to more injuries and hamper any future chances he might have at escape. With the cuffs on, he had none.

Steve felt a shiver run down his spine as they stepped off of the jet to see a small nondescript building outside that didn't look any bigger than a house. Obviously, most of its interior was built underground.

He walked a little unevenly on his ankle. Also an issue that could inhibit escape. Steve couldn't run properly.  He'd had to resort to stealth, then.

"Colonel? _He_ wants to speak to you, immediately, about how to proceed," a woman rushed up to his side, holding a phone out to Karpov. Steve watched curiously. Obviously they didn't want to know who it was. Did that mean he knew him or that they just decided to retain a level of secrecy? Were they actually afraid of Steve escaping, or not?

Before Steve could even try and listen in armed guards appeared behind him and a barrel of a gun in his back was nudging him forward.

* * *

_ >>  Hey P. I know you're busy with Tony right now but I just got a text from Nat. Apparently Steve might be in trouble.  Please call. -Aria _

Pepper read the message, and then cut to the chase.  

She walked out onto the back deck of Tony's lodge, dialed Aria, and said, bluntly, "What kind of trouble?"

Pepper hadn't spoken with Steve since New Year's Eve.  She had been completely absorbed into Tony's black hole of depression, and she suspected Steve wouldn't want to talk to her because she was too close to Tony.  She did miss him, though.

Aria, though, had also been in the dark.

When the story broke, Tony hadn't raged.  There had been no yelling or swearing. Simply Tony's perfect look of blank neutrality, the one that went up when he wasn't sure what to do immediately.  When emotions hit Tony hard, _really_ hard, his default method was to close himself up.

And close himself up he did.  He had calmly walked down to the shop and locked himself in, and a half-hour later, JARVIS had calmly stated that Mr. Stark requested Captain Rogers's removal from the premises, along with all SHIELD personnel and anyone else not directly employed by Mr. Stark.  That was it. No fanfare, no tantrum. Just a dismissal.

Steve had disappeared within a few days and neither Aria nor Natasha nor any of his other friends had, to Pepper's knowledge, had any contact with him.

His interview had gone viral and for a month there had been wild amounts of news coverage and speculation and people desperate for more news.  But it had died down to trickle now because there was no new news at all. Steve was gone, and so was Tony, and neither camp was providing any information at all.

Aside from a single interviewer who had seen him a few days after Tony had kicked him out, no one else had heard a peep from Steve Rogers.

"I don't know," Aria said. She sounded tense, stressed, almost afraid. Which Aria never was. Yes, she got stressed. But she was never scared. She was currently pacing around her kitchen, cigarette held in one hand and phone in the other. "Natasha, one of Steve's SHIELD buddies, texted me. She told me that she'd been keeping tabs on Steve without letting SHIELD know, but that he'd... that he'd disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Pepper prompted gently.

"Gone off the grid.  Natasha sent one of her contacts in Russia to check out where she knew Steve had been staying. She said she found a hotel room full of his things, just abandoned, including a journal and a sketchbook. Virginia, Steve would _never_ leave his sketchbook just--"

"Aria. You need to breathe. Calm down."

"Fuck." Aria leaned against a countertop and took a long drag. "Look, Virginia... I know Tony is having his crisis or whatever but we both know he stands a better chance at finding Steve than anyone else does. We need to know if this is just Steve getting better at hiding or if something has happened to him. I just have a really bad feeling and I'm willing to bet everything that Tony knows something is wrong. So tell him to get his ass in gear.  We need to know Steve is safe. And his... apparently his sketchbook... oh my God..."

Pepper remained quiet, waiting patiently. Aria had worked herself up into quite a state.

"Apparently it was full of drawings. But apparently most of them were of, like, red skulls, and the Winter Soldier, and--"

"I get it Aria. Just breathe.  I'll talk to Tony."

* * *

Steve's cell was small.  Ten paces long and five paces wide.  It was literally empty, save for a horse blanket on the floor.  They gave him no water and no food. There was also no light. The hallway was tiled and well-lit with fluorescent lights but none of the cells (there were six, the other five unoccupied) had any lighting at all.  The floor was tile as well, and in the center was a drain. It was more like a shower stall than a cell, to be honest. The walls were concrete, solid, along with the ceiling, and the door was shatter-proof glass lined with adamantium bars several inches thick.  There was a small window at the bottom like a mail slot but it was too narrow for Steve to fit his hand through.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the room; the lights were on constantly and because he was underground there was no sense of time.  But it must have been a while because he was growing hungry and his mouth was growing increasingly dry.

Two figures appeared in front of the door.  One was unfamiliar, a man in a uniform holding a gun.  The other was very, very familiar.

Bucky stared into Steve's cell with the curiosity of a child watching an animal at the zoo.

He sat down cross-legged so they could talk through the little slot at the bottom.

"You stabbed my friend in the hand," he informed Steve.  He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound anything. He was simply stating a fact.  His eyes had a weird, glassy emptiness to them. His hair was long, past his jawline, and there was a shadow of stubble on him, and heavy bags beneath his eyes.  The handsome young soldier Steve remembered from the forties was only a ghost of a memory on this man, yet it was still him, and remarkably, he was still Steve's age.  As if they weren't both shoved seventy years in the future, with nearly all their acquaintances aged or dead.

Steve hadn't done much aside from sit in his cell. He couldn't pace, not with the ankle and the immobility combined with the entrapment was driving him insane. He wasn't surprised when Bucky came to see him but he was surprised that Karpov came to supervise. Of course, Steve wasn't stupid. He knew that there were cameras watching him constantly. Still, they were letting him lose on the Winter Soldier and his supposed 'programming'.

"Your friend is the reason I'm here. Your friend knows what these people are and what they do and he was still willing to put me here," Steve said voice even as he met Bucky's gaze. He didn't move from where he was leant against the wall, his foot hurt too much. He looked at Bucky with a challenging look in his eye. The same kind of look he'd held when he used to watch Bucky go out for the night, knowing he would bring someone home; it was a look of disappointment and disapproval.

Steve had bitten into his left palm hard and made it bleed. Across the span of one cell wall he'd smeared blood across the glass in clear letting:  _I DO NOT CONSENT._

His eyes narrowed a little at Bucky's almost child-like demeanor. "You know what they're going to make you do to me, don't you?"

"Yes," said the asset.  The blond looked surprised at his response.  "I know. Colonel Karpov says we all have a role to play in making a better world, and that most are supposed to serve and to follow.  This is especially difficult for Americans because their minds have been poisoned with capitalist lies about individuality. But he says once you'd had a few pups you will naturally fall into your role and be content."

He looked up at the red writing on the wall.  I DO NOT CONSENT. Did he mean _content_?  Was he not content because of the terrible society he was being forced to champion, unaware of the oppressiveness of freedom?

No, that didn't make sense. _I do not content_ wasn't grammatically correct and Karpov had warned him that Americans in particular clung stubbornly to their unhealthy love of democracy.  It was like an addiction, he'd explained.

"What's that mean?" he asked, pointing to the wall.

Even though the omega looked and sounded and _smelled_ absolutely furious, the asset still felt a magnetic draw to him that he couldn't explain.  He liked his smell, even when it was angry. He liked his voice and his expressions. He liked him a lot.  Just being around him gave him the same feeling as when he was around Karpov and Karpov told him he was good or gave him a cigarette or helped him brush his hair from his face.

He really, really liked the omega and hadn't backed down on begging to see him when they arrived at the base.  Karpov had relented "just to shut you up," and told him he could forget about dinner because he'd been so annoying, which the soldier felt was a fair enough trade.  He much preferred spending time with the omega to eating anyway.

Steve was horrified but he tried not to show it. Not at what they were going to make Bucky do, but at how calm he seemed about it. How accepting. How could he just accept hurting Steve like this?

"I would rather die than have children for HYDRA," he said, voice shaky with conviction. "And this." Steve pointed up at the wall. "This is a reminder to myself. To you, Bucky. And to everyone else who walks into this room. So even if they make me go into heat, make me feel like I need it, I won't forget what it really is. They're going to make you rape me. And _I do not consent_.  There is nothing anyone can do to me that would ever, ever make me cooperate with HYDRA."

Steve was visibly shaking with upset. It was kind of ironic in a way. Steve had hoped every day back in the forties that Bucky would give in and touch him. And now Bucky would finally would and Steve just told him he would rather die.

He was almost crying, he realized as he brought a hand up to his face. It was hardly surprising. It was hard to sit there in front of his old mate from inside a cage. It was hard to sit there and hear Bucky say it was his goddamn duty to breed him even if he didn't want it.  It wasn't that he was scared or even sad.  He was furious, indignant, and helpless.  The worst possible combination of emotions.

"This is a reminder. And a promise.  This is a reminder that I'm not going to be a pawn in HYDRA's game. That I never was. And I never will be."

The asset listened to him ramble, feeling utterly lost.

He looked over his shoulder but the guard had left, probably for a smoke break, and he was alone.  He was hoping to for Karpov to be there, to explain. Karpov could always explain. But he was alone and alone, he was having trouble making sense of what the omega was saying.

"Make me mate you?" he repeated in confusion.  Had he heard right? "...I'm not allowed to mate.  I'm a soldier; I don't have a mate. I'm not bonded to anyone."  The omega's words and tone was accusatory, like he had failed, but he knew he hadn't; Karpov had given him orders which he had satisfactorily completed.

He had no one to protect; he was unpaired.

Bonds were only distractions.  He had no mate.  Only objectives.  Only missions.

Those thoughts seemed wrong, somehow.  His brow furrowed.

He would _know_ if he was bonded, wouldn't he?

Was he bonded to Karpov?

No... he didn't like Alphas.

Did he?

Hm.

He turned to ask Karpov, remembered he was alone.  Well, shit.

The crook of his left arm got a fierce itch that couldn't be scratched; he flexed the fingers irritably, ignoring the whirring of the gears.

"A mate is supposed to protect. But you haven't. Did they tell you what you did?" Steve leaned forward. "You made me have a miscarriage. I've never felt so _empty_ in my life."

"Is that why you're angry?  You lost a whelp?" He wasn't sure why he was being blamed for that.  He was even more confused because the omega had just insisted he didn't want to be mated at all, but now he was complaining about miscarrying.

Karpov was right; the average person clearly didn't know what they wanted or what was good for them.

He felt sorry for the omega then because it seemed very difficult and lonely to be in charge of one's own self.  He lived in a neatly packaged world run by Karpov and its effectiveness, Karpov said, was a living allegory for what the world would be under HYDRA's guiding hand.  He should be proud, said Karpov, to have such an honored position, to be one of the first lucky people to have been granted this reprieve from their own destiny. He should be grateful.

"Do you want water?" he asked, because the omega's words, while fierce, also seemed incredibly raspy.

"I don't want anything from you," Steve said, his voice trembling. A tear slipped free and streamed down his cheek. He didn't reach up to brush it away. He did reach up to rub at the back of his neck, however. "Well, they'll have someone mate me," he said bitterly. "If they leave Tony's mark here unchallenged he'll find me. Maybe not straight away, but eventually. They're going to have to erase it with someone's and if they going to have you-- have you breed me anyway," his words words were full of venom, "then I don't see why it would be anyone but you.  After all, we're both enhanced.  Does it really even make a difference who does it?  It'll be HYDRA behind it, whether it's you or someone else."

"Bonding is a distraction from the cause," said the asset.

"You were bonded once. You don't remember that. They took everything away, didn't they? S'why I stopped feeling you. But the bond is broken." Steve leaned forward again. "I know you felt me. And I know you felt Tony. When I kept seeing you outside, a part of me knows that was real.  Somewhere in our subconscious, we're still tied together, somehow."

Maybe Steve sounded crazy. But he could work with that, if HYDRA thought he was losing it.  Actually, crying and acting hopeless might be a strategically good choice at the moment.

"And the reasons I'm angry goes far beyond losing a whelp. But that- _that_ was the cherry on the cake. No- actually, you know what was? Afterwards.  It was Tony being fucking grateful that you'd made me lose it! I mean-"

Steve's shoulders were shaking. He was almost crying. He was verging on hysterical.

And if he was playing it up a little for the cameras he knew were watching, well.  He was hoping they'd underestimate him.  Because the second he had the opportunity he was going to break out and make them pay.

"Don't you remember? You wouldn't touch me because you were afraid of hurting me. You wouldn't even stick your tongue in my mouth. And now you've hurt me bad enough that I lost a-- a-- and _now_ you're willing to hurt me even _more_ because of some _bullshit_ that a screwy pseudo-Nazi cult has fed into your brain for years.  I would have given you _everything_. And now you're taking _everything_ from me.  I would _never_...I would _never_ have let him mate me if I knew you were still alive. I swear. And now I can't even ask for your forgiveness because you don't fucking understand!"

Steve was crying now. He himself wasn't clear how much of it was frustration and how much of it was acting.

He aimed a fist at the wall, punched it, and then he leaned his head down, threading his fingers into his hair tightly. His shoulders shook.

"Just get out. I can't take this! Get out!"

The asset watched in fascination as the magnificent omega he was so interested in melted before him.

He didn't know what bond the omega was talking about or who Tony was or why he was acting like they knew each other.  Perhaps he had mistaken the soldier for someone else.

Yes, that was likely it.  The soldier was not really used to having chit-chats.  He mostly just agreed while Karpov monologued. But he felt like he needed to say more than merely "yes, sir" to this poor omega, who was hurting so bad that it was actually making _him_ hurt, like someone was hitting him in the stomach.

When he said the bit about putting his tongue in his mouth, the soldier shivered with a strange, new, rather delightful sensation.  That sounded wonderful.

"Tony sounds like a jerk.  I'm sorry you lost your pup," he ventured while the omega cried, gripping his hair in his white-knuckled fists.  That didn't help, so he tried something else. "You can ask my forgiveness, if you want. I'll forgive you."

He had never, not in his whole life, or at least in his memory, been in a position to grant anyone anything.  It felt good.

Unusual.  But... good.

* * *

 "Tony?  Tony, SHIELD needs you."

"Tell 'em to suck a dick," said Tony.  He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a little pinball game in his hands.  Under the plastic there was a maze with three balls in it and the goal was to get all three into little slots at the same time.  Tony could get two but right when he got the third, one would roll out. He'd been at it for hours.

" _Steve_ needs you."

Tony froze.

The final little pinball fell into its slot.

"Yay," said Tony dully.

"Tony.  Steve is missing--"

"He's on his honeymoon with his other mate," snarled Tony acerbically.

"--he's missing and they located all of his personal effects in Russia.  Including his sketchbook, Tony."

Tony considered this.  Steve's sketchbook was like his own personal Bible.  Steve had carried it with him through the war and Tony wasn't even allowed to look in it without Steve supervising; he'd never seen the entirety of its contents.

"...Tony.  You're bonded to Steve.  So you can help find him."

"...maybe he doesn't want to be found," said Tony, going back to tilting the game around to move the pinballs through the maze.

Pepper paused, then looked down, startled, at her phone.

"Oh my God!  They just found him!" she exclaimed.

"See?  You didn't need me after--"

"He's dead."

Tony froze again, completely.  There were several seconds of silence.  Tony's body was trembling; his eyes brimmed with tears.

Pepper put her phone in her pocket.  "Tony. Steve is still missing. That was a simulation of what it would feel like if something happened to him if you refused to do anything because of your pride."

"You _bitch_ ," croaked out Tony, putting a shaking hand over his face.

"This isn't for the media.  This isn't for SHIELD. This is for _you_.  You don't have to talk to him.  You don't have to look him in the eye.  But you made a commitment as his Alpha to protect him and he might need you right now.  So suit up and go find him."

Tony peeked out through his fingers, still visibly shaking.

"He's n-not d-dead?"

"...no, Tony," said Pepper softly, climbing onto the bed on her knees and hugging Tony's head.  Tony leaned his head onto his chest, shivering violently; when she looked down, she could see the large, raised scar on his neck through his hackles, which were still spiked up in alarm.  "You'd know if he was.  You'd feel the bond break.  He's not dead.  ...but you need to make sure he's okay," she reiterated after a moment of rocking him.

"...yeah," said Tony, very, very softly.  "...okay."

* * *

Getting the omega water had not been ordered; the asset had decided to do that on his own. 

It required a bit of clever thinking.  The slot in the door was too narrow to allow a proper cup, but managed to procure a wide, flash dish, not unlike a pie tin, and fill that with water.  He took it very carefully back downstairs so that he didn't spill any of it.

The omega was weeping softly in his cell.

"I brought you water," he said, desperately wanting the omega's approval, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of.

He had checked in on Karpov, who was bunked on level A-2, but Karpov had had half of a bottle of vodka and was barely conscious, so the soldier had decided to carry on with his investigation of the omega.  This was not technically disobeying orders since Karpov hadn't told him he had to stop or that there was any sort of time limit on talking to the omega.

He also took the liberty of checking on his friend in the infirmary on level A-4.  Pietro's hand had been rebandaged.

"You're looking a lot more bright-eyed than usual," he'd observed.

"Colonel Karpov says I may speak to the omega.  How's your hand?"

"It'll be fine.  He didn't hit anything important and I heal really fast," said Pietro.  "Thanks for asking. Here, have some gum."

The soldier had taken it gratefully and gone back down to the holding cells.

"You don't understand," said the omega miserably, looking up.  His eyes were puffy.  "You don't understand what you'd even be forgiving me for.  What's the point? There isn't one." Steve sniffed, shoulders trembling instead of the violent shake from before. He was calming down, if very slowly.

Steve grabbed the tin of water gratefully and downed it. A little dribbled down his chin but he didn't care. He sighed in relief as the cool liquid slipped down his throat. Steve closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the glass.

The asset leaned forward.

Steve's eyes flickered open to meet the other's, their faces a lot closer than they had been before. Bucky could see his tear stained cheeks, the pale skin there pinkish. "Thank you," swallowed Steve thickly.

Bucky looked confused.

"For the water," clarified Steve.  He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. The situation felt so very delicate. But Steve wanted to get out of here. He did not want to be _bred_.

The slot was small but big enough for his hand, if only just. Steve reached out and pushed his fingertips through it. "Will... will you hold my hand?" Steve whispered. "Buck? It would make me feel a hell of a lot better..."  He tried for a smile but he just looked sad. "Please?"

The asset's eyes lit up in a way Steve hadn't seen before; the glassy, distant look disappeared and his face, once blank, suddenly broke into a smile.

He reached out and threaded their hands together happily.  The touch was electric. The asset couldn't stop smiling; he had wanted, so badly, to touch this omega, and now he was.  It was everything he had imagined. He was filled with so many wonderful emotions that he felt like he could burst.

The omega's eyes were blue and they were lovely.  He gazed into them longingly. He'd never felt this way about anyone, not even Karpov.

Suddenly, a memory.

"I got you tulips," he said.  It was almost a question. "White ones."

He stroked his thumb across the omega's knuckles.  His hands were much softer than the soldier's, but still strong.

"I pressed one and kept it. I kept it in the back of my sketchbook, for years," Steve murmured. "But I didn't take it to war with me and that was it. I don't know what happened to everything in our old place... I imagined other people just moved in eventually, when we didn't come home."

The soldier stared blankly at him.  He clearly did not comprehend the story fully.

Nonetheless, he was attentive, listening raptly to every word that Steve spoke.

He wanted to offer the omega more but he had nothing else to give.

Wait a second.

"...do you want gum?" he ventured.

"I'm okay. I always want to eat it," Steve said softly. Bucky's fingers were rough and warm, perhaps rougher than he remembered but they were still an anchor. He curled his fingers gently around the other's, like Steve was afraid of Bucky pulling away.

"Is Pietro okay, with his hand? I didn't actually want to hurt him..."

"He's okay," said the soldier.  "He says he heals fast. No hard feelings."  His tone had lightened and sounded more human, with far less of the flat, child-like voice he'd had earlier.

He kept going over and over in his head the things the omega had said to him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.  "I'm sorry about your baby.  I didn't know. I didn't mean to."  A pause. "You're bonded?" A half-question, half-statement.

He had a vague memory of Captain Rogers and Howard Stark but Howard Stark was dead, wasn't he?  How could this omega be carrying Howard's child if Howard was dead?  Except that he'd never mentioned Howard at all, just some guy named Tony, and though the soldier was straining, he was having difficulty remembering who that was.

His memory, he'd come to realize, was very poor.  He frequently asked Karpov for clarifications. Half the time he got an explanation but the other half, Karpov would curse Dr. Ludheim to hell and say that he shouldn't even be asking that and his program was failing and it was all von Strucker's fault, that pig-headed _ублю́док._

* * *

" _ублю́док_ , _"_ muttered Natasha darkly, shading her eyes against the sun as a streak of bright red streaked across the sky.  She had been the first to spot him. She, Clint, Phil, and Sam had met in an empty hangar on one of SHIELD's blacksite bases.  Phil had brought along maps of all know HYDRA operatives and bases and they were spread out all over a workbench, which Clint had cleared effectively by sweeping everything on it onto the floor into a heap.

They fell silent as the sound of the jets drowned out their conversation; a moment later there was a loud, metallic clang as the suit landed on the concrete outside the hangar.  Iron Man strode confidently into the open hangar, pausing behind the collected group.

For a moment everyone was silent and it was unclear whether Tony was even in there or whether this was merely a drone.

But then he reached up and removed his face plate, and there he was.

His appearance had changed drastically.  He'd lost noticeable weight, grown a full beard, and looked like he hadn't slept in days.  He was also much paler, as if he'd stopped going outside altogether, which was pretty much exactly the case.

"...Mr. Stark," said Phil, breaking the silence, nodding to him.

"So we don't know where he is?" asked Tony.

Phil shook his head.

"But we-- you-- did know, before?"

Phil and Natasha both nodded.

Tony stared, dead-eyed for a moment, then nodded.  "Okay. Well, let's find him, then."

"You're in?" asked Sam.

"...yeah.  I'm in."


	31. Prisoner of War, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AWAKEN, BUCKY!

Pietro had said there were no hard feelings.

It was an unusual thing to say; Steve couldn't help but feel that his captivity was rather personal.

"No hard feelings," Steve repeated softly and stared down at their fingers tangled together. Bucky's skin was a touch darker; he'd been exposed to more sun. "That's kind of him. I could have caused permanent damage."

"He'll heal," said the soldier brusquely.  Certainly, the soldier had been stabbed through the hand on a number of occasions.  It was no big deal.  It was just something that happened occasionally on missions.

"I was bonded to you," Steve said tentatively, not sure how Bucky would take it. If he would even believe him. "And now I'm bonded to Tony. He bit over your mark.  But now the bond is fading. He's been letting it go. I stopped feeling him as much.  I think he’ll eventually sever it."

The soldier stared at him blankly.  How could they have been bonded? The soldier was unsure they'd ever even met before, aside from recently.  Was this a trick?

Steve ran the pad of his index finger on the inside of Bucky's wrist, curious to see if he would get a reaction. He tilted his head, blue eyes bright. "I wish you could get closer," he whispered, words leaving his lips before he had a chance to even ponder them.

When Steve's finger slid along his wrist, the soldier's whole body shivered with delight, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

"...I wish that too," he whispered back conspiratorially.  He wasn't used to having opinions or desires, but he knew that he liked his omega and he wanted him.  He wanted to smell his neck again. He gave his fingers a little squeeze through the slot in the door, staring back into his eyes, enjoying this.

His gaze traveled up to the words on the wall.   _I do not consent_.  And he remembered how clearly he'd been told that he would never, ever like this, no matter how much he seemed to.

He dropped his gaze.  It made him upset to know that the omega was only pretending.  But he didn't remove his hand. The pull toward him was too strong.  He had never felt this way about anyone... not even Karpov. It was a scandalous thought, one sure to get him in trouble.  Yet he no longer had retraining sessions thanks to Dr. Ludheim so he wasn't really sure what it mattered.

Steve saw Bucky's gaze move back and forth and the frown that etched into his features. He sighed softly. "Bucky, I- I don't not consent to us holding hands.  C'mon. I asked you first," he reasoned.

But he was also very aware that if they induced a heat he may well be asking for something else he didn't want. Steve swallowed.

The soldier leaned forward to nose at the omega's fingertips.  The omega could pull away if he wanted to, he figured. If he told the soldier to leave, he would; he was tired, ready to go curl up on the end of Karpov's bed, since no bed had been provided to him.  But given him own choice (and he couldn't remember the last time he'd made a choice on his own), he would much rather stay here, sleep on the cold tiles under the bright lights, just to be close to the blond.

Steve's breath hitched as Bucky leaned down to nuzzle at his fingers. He traced his fingertips over Bucky's face slowly; his forehead, his nose, his cheek, his lips. As if somehow that solidify that he was real. "I wish you could remember," he whispered. Steve was beginning to feel emotional again. Seeing Bucky like this sent so many feelings and memories of his own rushing back. He was trembling with excitement; he was overwhelmed.  What were the goddamn chances that his best friend, like him, would be flung into the future?  That they'd find each other seventy years later like this?  It was like a fairy tale.

Steve's eyes flickered down to Bucky's face. He pulled his fingers away and then moved to crouch down himself, their faces level. Bucky's eyes looked brighter than they did through the glass. Steve almost smiled.

"You know that if the Avengers come, they'll try to kill you," he whispered, voice soft. "So you have to run. You don't stay and fight. You run. Tony will kill you because he doesn't understand."  Steve smiled then, sadly. "I didn't either. And I'm sorry. I see now that this isn't your doing and that this isn't your fault.  You really don't remember anything, do you, Bucky?"

The soldier stared at him, blankly, not knowing what the Avengers were or who Tony was.  He doubted very much that Tony could kill him, though. No one could. People had certainly tried.

Was his name Bucky?  He kept getting called Bucky.

He was sad they weren't holding hands anymore.  His mind was still looping through all the things this blond had said to him.  That they were bonded, that he'd never even put his tongue--

_Yes._

_They were on the couch, side by side, holding hands.  Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces. His lips were warm, wet, and swollen, and his mouth was parted invitingly, and he'd been working his jaw, but despite being open-mouthed, the whole thing was still quite chaste, because he didn't dare lose control.  How easy it would be to push Steve down, to grab his wrists and pin him and nuzzle into his neck and pull down his trousers and take him..._

_Steve reached between them and took his hand, placed it on his thigh.  An invitation._

_Bucky broke away._

_"Steve."_

_"Please, Bucky."  He looked at him pleadingly._

_"Steve, we ain't got the money for a pup, anyway.  And even if we did... hell, come on, Steve, you know it'd kill you, right?"_

_"I'm not even in heat.  Please. We'll be careful.  You can pull out."_

_"My mom's last two kids were pull-outs.  Forget it, Stevie." He put a hand on the back of the blond's head, drawing him forward, and kissed the top of his head.  "You weren't made to have pups. It's okay. I love you anyway."_

_"This isn't just about having kids, Buck!"  Steve was starting to look angry. Oh boy, here it was, another fight.  The funny thing was that Steve was always the aggressor. He was small and couldn't do much damage, but he had spirit, all right.  He'd hit Bucky before, thrown things at him... Bucky took it, not willing to retaliate, knowing that Steve's frustrations were perfectly valid but being helpless to do anything about it._

_"I'm going to the bar," he said, rising, not wanting to have the inevitable shouting match._

_"Then I'll come with you," said Steve stubbornly, fiercely, getting up as well._

_"...you can't  I'm going to Hanley's," he snapped.  Hanley's was Alphas and betas only._

_Steve looked ready to scream.  "It's not_ fair _!" he yelled, aiming a kick at their worn sofa._

_"Well, it ain't my fault, either, so leave me alone!" snapped Bucky, grabbing his hat and storming out._

Bucky's stomach turned.

"Steve."

A pair of bright blue eyes, unchanged by the serum, stared at him through the tiny window at the bottom of the door.

"Steve, I'm not going to leave you," he said softly.  "...what was it we used to say? That... that we'd..."  He fumbled for the words. They were just on the very tip of his tongue.  "...that we'd be together 'til the end of the line?" He gave Steve a weak smile; it felt weird; he was out of practice, making facial expressions like that.  "...ain't no one gonna scare me off. You're stuck with me, kid." He watched Steve longingly on the other side of the glass.

There was plenty he didn't know or understand about the world, but he knew this.

Steve was his.  Steve was telling the truth, about being bonded, and while he didn't really understand how they'd gotten to this particular point in time (why was Steve in a cell like a criminal and since when he had looked like _that_?), he found that he didn't really care, either.

All that mattered is that they were together.  They'd found each other again.

He made a mental note to thank Karpov.

"Till the end of the line, yeah," Steve said, his eyes glazing over a little with the threat of tears. He swallowed down the lump in his throat but didn't dare look aware from Bucky, as if he might lose him if he broke their gaze. "I thought I lost you twice. Turns out both times I was wrong. I'm so sorry I left you down there in that ravine; I'll never forgive myself for that, Buck..."

The way he was speaking-- it was almost like Bucky was back. Steve wanted to reach out but there were glass and bars between them. He wanted to feel him. Feel how alive he was.

Steve opened his mouth to speak when a guard at the door interrupted them. Steve hadn't even noticed him walking up.

"The director is here," he said, voice flat and toneless.

Steve straightened up, holding Bucky's gaze.  So it was finally time for him to meet his captors...

* * *

They all stood watching the grainy CCTV silently. The camera was across the street and the image was poor, but it was just across from the hotel roof, so there was a direct line of sight. Soft gasps could be heard when the dark, fuzzy image of Steve slipped and nearly fell of the roof to his death. Natasha's shoulders eased out when Steve pulled himself back up.

But then another figure followed. Despite the grainy image, his silver arm was evident as he made the jump after Steve.

"Shit," Clint whispered.

"I went through his calls," Phil said, stepping into the room. He'd already seen the CCTV, just minutes ago. "He was using a burner phone, pre-paid. He only made one call from it that night."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "Well? Don't leave us in suspense, Phil."

Coulson sighed heavily. "It was to Jasper Sitwell."

Tony's adrenaline was already up, watching the footage Natasha had found for them.

 _Does he have a death wish_? he wondered, watching in horror as Steve slammed into someone, twisting his ankle, and then tried to leap between another pair of roofs.  It was unclear who the person he'd hit was or even where he had come from; the tape might have glitched because he seemed to appear out of nowhere.

" _Sitwell?_ " repeated Tony incredulously.  "Why would he call _him_ instead of Phil or something?  Of all the SHIELD agents in the world, why would he pick _him_?"

"Jasper is the least emotionally invested... maybe he didn't want to talk to anyone with connections to Tony," said Sam.

Tony felt a pang.  "Or maybe he _meant_ to call Phil and--"

"Sitwell didn't report a call received," interrupted Natasha.  "They talked for two minutes and Sitwell never thought to tell SHIELD?"

" _You've_ been secretly monitoring Steve, though," pointed out Tony.  "Maybe you weren't the only one."

"I think we need to pay Jasper a visit," said Phil wearily.  "Either he's hiding something or he and Steve are a lot closer than we realized."

"Okay.  So we have one lead.  Here's the others," said Natasha.  She held up a couple of flash drives.  "I pulled a list of all currently known HYDRA bases.  Steve could be at any of them."

"How many are there?" asked Tony.

"There's twenty-six.   _Known_.  We only have satellite monitoring on fourteen."

Tony's brow furrowed; the gears in his mind were turning.  "Air traffic control. Let's pull the data of all flights leaving Moscow in the last twenty-four hours."

"What's that supposed to do?" asked Clint, glaring at Tony.  No one was being especially warm to him but he didn't seem to either notice or care.  

"There's twenty-six bases, right? How many are within a reasonable driving distance of Moscow?  We get the flight data. We know there were at least four people involved, right?" He tapped the monitor. "There was the Winter Soldier, who isn't exactly inconspicuous, what with the freaky Inspector Gadget arm, plus three others, plus Steve.  But they couldn't have just put Steve on a commercial flight... unless they found some way to drug him and throw him into the cargo hold... anyways, what I'm getting at is, any outgoing flights would have data, like how many passengers and what kind of cargo.  We can rule out any planes with less than three passengers and probably all of the big commercial liners, but we'll check the baggage logs, see what's Steve-sized and where it's going, plus ID any private liners... we can at least start eliminating some of these bases.  Probably not all. But we can at least narrow it down. If there's a base in Italy and no Moscow flights heading to Italy with Steve-sized cargo, then we cross it off the list."

Everyone considered this plan.

"It's better than nothing," said Natasha.  "How quickly can you have the--"

"Flight logs and baggage inventories?  Done," said Tony. "JARVIS already pulled it for me."

"I'll go with Coulson.  Back-up. Just in case," said Natasha, rising.  "Sam, Clint..." She didn't say Tony's name. "...you three go through flight records and see if you can narrow the list.  We'll be back soon."

Tony looked up at the CCTV's screen, paused on an image of Steve's form lying motionless in the snow, two figures standing over him.  He reached out with one metal-gloved hand and touched it lightly, longingly.

Then he shook off his feelings and prepared to get to work.

* * *

Jasper Sitwell sat in an interview room looking nervous. He was sweaty, his forehead shiny, and he kept tugging at the collar of his shirt. He shifted and squirmed a little in his seat, swallowing down the water from the plastic cup with a shaky hand. Sitwell didn't look good. He wasn't good at this. That's what HYDRA valued about him; he was expendable.

Natasha stood outside the one-way glass, watching him squirm. Her arms were crossed against her chest. "You sure you wanna go in there?" She murmured to Tony. "We're trained in negotiation."

Clint was stood the other side of Tony, watching Sitwell as well. "I think we can break him in an hour. Offer him a deal and he'll tell us everything."

"But we need to scare him," Natasha added. "He needs to know that if he doesn't tell us everything, he'll _wish_ he had."

Tony had dedicated his substantial brain power to trying to figure out the most likely place for Steve.  He'd taken Natasha's list of 23 bases, and sorted it based on whether it was likely or not that Steve was there, according to an elaborate flowchart.  His current best guesses were Western Australia, Shanxi, Tokyo, Cuba, or Genoa. He was especially interested in Shanxi, China (where there was a bioweapons facility, and what was Steve, if not a bioweapon?) and Genoa, Italy (where there was a base nickname "Omega Point," which had prompted a lot of hysterical excitement from Tony that took thirty minutes and half a bottle of bourbon to quell).

"This isn't a negotiation.  He has my omega and I want him back," said Tony, teeth gritted.

Phil eyed Sitwell through the one-way glass, sipping on coffee from a paper cup.  "We don't know that he knows anything, yet," he said evenly.

"Look at him!  Look at him, he's obviously guilty!" said Tony, slamming a fist against the glass hard enough to produce a bang that caused Jasper to jump in his seat.

"Just because he's guilty doesn't mean he knows anything," said Phil, unimpressed by Tony's theatrics.

"If we didn't think he was a mole of some sort, we would be doing this through official channels," said Clint.  "You know if we're wrong, HR is going to have a field day?"

"We're not wrong.  He's a HYDRA plant.  Let me at him," growled Tony.

"Down, boy," said Natasha.  She was only half-joking; Tony's hackles had been up for nearly an hour and he was oozing enough aggression to make even her uncomfortable.  "We want to scare him, not obliterate him. If you're sure about this, c'mon."

She, Clint, and Tony exited the observation room and walked into the interrogation room.  It wasn't an especially warm place; there was a table, two chairs, and absolutely zero decoration, unless you counted the mirror on one wall that had the observation room on the other side.

" _Where is he?_!" shrieked Tony immediately, tearing into the room and knocking over the second chair.  They'd made him take off his armor but he was still looking fairly intimidating, despite the full beard, MIT sweatpants, and wifebeater that smelled like engine oil.

Clint walked over and pulled the chair upright.  "Coffee, Jasper?" he offered.

"Oh, I get it.  Good-cop, bad-cop, right?" said Jasper, clearly trying to maintain a level of calm.  His gaze traveled over to Natasha.

She fixed him with a sharp, unwavering gaze.  "You have, what, level seven clearance? So you know exactly what I'm capable of," she said softly.  "I'd rather make this easy. It's late. I'm tired. But I have no problem at all pulling a few fingernails off of you if I think it'll make this easier.  So save yourself the trouble, and tell us what you know."

"We have the phone records," added Clint.  He was bluffing. All they knew was that the call had been placed and had been about two minutes long; what was discussed was unknown.

Jasper reached up to loosen his tie, studying their faces.  "Fine. I don't know where he is. I know where he _was_ , but so do you, if you have the phone records.  And he's not there anymore. I'm not part of Project Heirloom."

"Oh?  What project are you with, then?" asked Natasha dangerously.

"I'm not with any project, I'm--"

Lightning-fast, Natasha was suddenly behind Sitwell, a garrote around his neck, choking him.  His eyes bulged and he gasped, reaching up to claw at it.

" _Which project_?" she repeated.

"What's Heirloom?" asked Clint.

Tony paced back and forth on the other side of the room like a caged tiger, clearly taking a vicious amount of enjoyment out of watching Sitwell get choked.  Natasha loosened up a little to let him talk.

"--P-project Insight, I'm with Insight, I'm--"

"We know you're working on Insight!  We also know you're working for HYDRA, so cut the crap and tell us what you're doing for them!" shouted Natasha, cinching up the garrote again.  Project Insight was a brand-new operation that SHIELD had that involved international security, but it was still in its infancy and many people doubted anything would come of it.  Jasper was on the founding committee but they already knew that; they knew what he did for SHIELD and his response seemed like a smug little joke, a refusal to explain his role in HYDRA.

Jasper was purple when she let go; he gasped desperately.  "P-project Heirloom is a b-breeding program--"

Tony lunged; Clint managed to grab him before he reached Sitwell.  Sitwell got out of the chair so fast he knocked it over; he squashed himself against the wall, looking terrified.

"--Rogers was a target, they just finished Zola's algorithm--" he babbled

"Slow down," said Natasha, her tone even.  "What algorithm?"

"F-for choosing Insight's targets."

Natasha's teeth clenched.  "We don't need to know about Insight.  We need to know about Heirloom and what the hell HYDRA is doing with Steve."

"I have n-nothing to do with Heirloom; he called me and I just t-told them where to find him."

"We need to find Steve," said Natasha.  Her gaze turned to Sitwell. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

" _Where is he?_?"

"I don't know!"

There were a few taps on the glass; Clint grabbed Tony and the two of them exited while Natasha threw the garrote around Sitwell's neck again.

Inside the observation room, Phil was still serenely sipping his coffee.  Behind him, in the interrogation room, Natasha and Sitwell were struggling.

"I really don't think he knows where they took him," said Phil.  "Unfortunately, he's probably telling the truth."

Sitwell slammed against the one-way glass, face red, eyes bulging.

"We have to find him," said Tony, wringing his hands.

"You two are bonded.  You ought to be able to.  I don't think Sitwell can give us any more intel than we've already got," said Phil.

"...I don't think he can, either," said Clint, glancing into the interrogation room.  Sitwell had succumbed to unconsciousness and was lying prone on the floor.

* * *

There was a man in a suit, a man in a uniform, and three people wearing white lab coats.  They all stared at Steve with interest.  Steve stared back unwaveringly.  

"Soldier, why are you here?" asked the man in the uniform, to Bucky.

Bucky scrambled to his feet quickly and saluted.  "Colonel Karpov granted me leave, sir, to see the omega, sir."

"It's fine," said the man in the suit with a small smile.  "We have use for him. ...a very nice little slogan, Captain.  Less nauseatingly patriotic than is typical of you," he said, nodding to the wall.  "Unfortunately, not especially legally binding." He laughed a little, and turned to Bucky.  "Soldier. We need blood samples. Would you be so kind?"

Bucky hesitated but obeyed.  He didn't know what else to do.  The General was watching the suit as if he was in charge and they unlocked the cell door with an electronic device, and he slipped in, hearing the door beep closed behind him.

The scientists shoved several tubes and syringes through the little slot of the door.

Clearly, no one was taking any chances with Captain America; only Bucky was going to be allowed to man-handle him.  Bucky looked at Steve. He didn't want to just _take._

He held out the syringe to Steve.  "You can do it yourself, if you want," he offered.

"You see? His programming is failing," said the man in the uniform.  "...we're probably going to dismiss Karpov and just keep the asset for breeding purposes.  He's the closest approximation we have to an enhanced soldier at present, but we've known for years that Project Eve and Project Guiding Star were flops."

Steve stared at the tubes and syringes in disgust and then he looked up and glared at the man in the suit. He was standing, but only just, his ankle off. He was obviously leaning on his good leg. He wasn't really in a position to fight Bucky. But he was also scared of getting Bucky in trouble.

Jesus. They had Steve exactly where they wanted him.

He took the syringes and threw them against the glass. They shattered and fell to the floor in pieces. Steve noted, with disappointment, that the plastic was not sharp enough to be used as a weapon.  One of the scientists sighed and reached into her bag to get out more; they'd evidently anticipated this particular issue.

The guard moved forward to wave a keycard at the cell door and unlock it.  He gestured for Bucky, who strode over and stepped into the cell obediently.  Steve ignored him; he was still glaring at the man in the suit.

"I would have thought Stark would have broken you in already. But you clearly still have no manners," the man in the suit sighed, tutting as he inspected his fingernails.

Steve was fuming, so angry he was visibly shaking. His blue eyes bright were fiery with his fury.

The female scientist pushed more syringes into the cell, more tentatively this time.

The man in the suit smiled tightly. Steve felt a sudden urge to punch his teeth in.

"Asset. Get the blood samples. Hopefully you will be more complacent with us in the future, captain."

Steve let out an empty laugh. "If you think assaulting people and making them carry babies they don't want makes them _complacent_ then you really are as stupid as you look," he breathed.

The director (for lack of a better term to call the man in the suit) ignored Steve's insult and repeated, more firmly, "Asset?"

He was lightning-fast; he grabbed Steve and threw him off-balance, an easy maneuver, considering the state of Steve's sprained ankle, and slammed him into the wall, pinning him with his left arm.  With his right, with surprising delicacy, he stuck a syringe into the crook of Steve's arm.

Steve's cheeks burned hot with embarrassment when Bucky pinned him so easily against the wall. He didn't say anything. He didn't beg. He might have in private but not in front of this director and scientists. Steve swallowed thickly under the metal curve of his bucky's arm, knowing it would leave a mark if he fought against it. He didn't.

The amount of blood they took made him feel woozy. Steve knew that if, by some miracle, he did escape that he would have to eliminate those samples. He'd been an idiot. He'd let them take his blood; who knew what they'd be able to do with it. How could he do this to his country? He was so fucking selfish.

"How long do you need?" asked the director, turning to the three scientists.

"We can't really easily say--" began one.

"Spare me your scientific mumbo-jumbo and give me a deadline."

"...one to three weeks for Phase Two of Eve."

"Excellent.  ...is that going to be enough?" he asked, nodding into the cell, where the soldier still had Steve pinned and was drawing his ninth tube of blood.

"Make it an even dozen," said the scientist with the bag, adjusting the shoulder strap.  "Better safe than sorry."

The soldier finished his task and let go of Steve, dropping him to the floor to pass the samples through the door; the scientist took them gratefully, along with the remains of the syringes Steve had smashed.  The Bucky from before had vanished again, replaced by the soldier.

Steve slumped down against the wall, ignoring the director still as the HYDRA elites walked away, leaving them be. He didn't say anything. He was still silent as he slid down the wall to sit down, his ankle throbbing.

"Well, Captain, thank you for your generous if a bit unnecessarily difficult contribution to science," said the man in the suit.  "We'll be in touch. We'll either recreate the serum or, failing at that, create a new inducer. Either way, we'll get what we want."

"I'll let the Colonel know he's down here," said the man in the uniform, nodding to the soldier as he closed the door.  

The Winter Soldier seemed to shake out of his daze.  "...wait!" he called, pressing against the cage door.

The five ignore him, turning and walking out.  The soldier watched them go, still calling to them.  "Wait! ...I'm still in here! ...what are my orders?!"

But they left without answering.  He'd been forgotten.

He hoped they remembered to tell Karpov he was here because overwise he was going to be in big, big trouble when he failed to return to his handler.

He gave the door a couple of scratches and then a few thumps with his left arm, but it didn't give the slightest indication that it was going to give.

He sat down to wait for Karpov to come get him. 

"If I asked you to kill me, would you?" Steve asked, voice empty.

The soldier looked over his shoulder and regarded the omega.

"No.  Why would you ask me to do that?" he asked.  He could think of at least three good reasons not to kill the blond.  First, because clearly he was important to HYDRA. He would no more kill this man than he would run a car off a cliff or pitch a perfectly good M-24 into a river.  Second, he hadn't been ordered to and it was a pointless waste of energy to do anything he wasn't ordered to. Third, he liked the blond. The blond smelled absolutely tantalizing.  Being in the same room as him was enjoyable even though the floor was hard and cold.

Being accidentally locked in here was actually kind of nice, like in the rare circumstances where he had a target in a tropical resort and he had to stalk him way across temperate, sandy beaches in the sunshine.

Now that he'd turned his attention to the blond he found it almost impossible to look away.  The blond captured him interest immensely for reasons he couldn't articulate, neither in English nor Russian.

He noted a drop of blood trickling down the blond's arm.

_They had lost Azzano and been forced to march east, hands on their hands.  They'd kept their faces blank, even though the defeat had been hard, embarrassing.  Men had been lost and for what? They were prisoners now. They waited for a chance to escape but none presented itself._

_Would he have run?  Maybe. Maybe he would have run and let them shoot him in the back._

_But he hadn't known at the time where they were taking him._

_In his cell, he lay there, head rolling, sweating with fever, his left arm on fire from the latest round of injections.  There was someone else next to him, another guy from the 107th, and he'd stopped moaning and stopped cursing Zola and now he was quiet and slowly growing cold and stiff, and Bucky didn't have the energy to move away.  He'd signed up to win a war and instead he'd become a guinea pig for God knows what horrible purpose._

_He tried to think of home, of Steve, but his thoughts were confused, twisted, as if the poison in his veins was strangling his very memories._

_And when he came out the other side, he couldn't feel Steve at all anymore.  Which meant either his omega was dead, or he had been ruined. And God help him, he hoped it was him and not Steve._

He blinked and reached up to scratch his left arm violently, but he only ended up breaking an already-short nail on the metal.  He flexed the fingers, gritting his teeth in annoyance against the phantom itching.

He didn't know what had happened to his arm.  He guess he had just been born without it or something.  He didn't really question things like that.

_"Hey, Barnes, you okay?"_

_He looked up from his plate of stew.  They were camped in northern Italy. He wasn't hungry.  Steve was giving him the cold shoulder and his left arm had developed the chronic rash it got on the inner elbow, where Zola had injected him._

_"I'm fine," he lied, trying desperately not to scratch at it.  It was already bleeding._

_"...he sure did a number on you."_

_"No lasting damage," said Bucky, trying not to look over at Steve.  "...I'm right as rain. Didn't lose nothing."_

_Steve got up suddenly and walked away, and Bucky was unable to finish his dinner._

"Because I don't want to do this. I would rather die than do this. Let them harvest me; I don't care. I have nothing waiting for me outside of this HYDRA base. Tony doesn't want me. You're not capable of really wanting. I don't even belong here. I should be dead anyway," Steve said quietly, his gaze fixed on the glass ahead of him.

He couldn't look at Bucky. He was almost nervous in such close proximity to the other.  Bucky was Bucky but he was also not.  The uncanniness of seeing his best friend like this was unnerving.

Steve finally looked at him after minutes of silence and tilted his head at him. "If they ask you to fuck me, will you?" he asked bluntly, expression blank.

The asset stared at him, not knowing how to answer.

This could be a test.

He knew that fucking the omega would be a task he would very gladly do if ordered.  He turned over the question in his mind. Yes, of course he would do whatever Karpov said.  That was his purpose. Was it a trick question?

He answered diplomatically.

"I follow my orders," he said, which was true.  His own opinions and desires did not factor into that equation.  There were certainly missions he liked more or less than others. For example, he had recently (or at least it felt like recently; there were big gaps in his memory, missing time, so he was never really sure when things had happened) had to kill a woman while she moaned for her husband, who was already dead, just to obtain an item.  He hadn't liked that but the mission had clearly stated there could be no witnesses and that it had to look like an accident. On the other hand, though, fucking the blond sounded like both an easy mission and also enjoyable, like being ordered to smoke a couple of cigarettes or something.

"You said I never put my tongue in your mouth," he pointed out.  He wasn't clear on what the blond wanted. How could the blond complain about him _not_ doing something when he'd written that he didn't consent right up there on the wall?  Unless what he was not consenting to was not doing something.

The asset's head swam.  This was a lot more independent thinking than he was accustomed to and it was confusing the hell out of him.

He let out an unintentional whine and looked out the door again, wishing Karpov would come get him and give him his medicine and possibly explain things in a way he could understand.

"An Alpha does not follow what anyone says but his omega. That is what bonding is. Trusting each other when you don't have anyone else." Steve replied calmly, watching Bucky with an almost curious look in his eye.

The Alpha was evidently somewhat pleased at the thought of fucking Steve- but then seriously, who wouldn't at least he, a little bit? Steve was, after all, a perfect human specimen.

Steve was tempted to move to stand up but he didn't.  He needed to keep his ankle rested for when he was finally ready to make his move.  

"I know it's been a while, Buck," Steve breathed, his tone patient and admittedly manipulative. He moved up onto his knees.  "Do I need to show you what being bonded means? Why would we should never hurt each other?"

The asset stared at him, face completely blank.

Beneath the surface, though, the gears were turning rapidly.

He was used to being offered things.  Before he killed people, they offered him things, bargaining for their lives.  He'd been offered all sorts of favors, money, power, sex... none of which had any appeal to him and did nothing to slow him, because the only thing he wanted (if you could call it "wanting") was to obey.

But the blond was offering him something (information?) with no clear motive.  The soldier had not been ordered to kill him. He'd been ordered to take him alive and he had.  The objective was complete. He could not compromise the mission; the mission was over.

The question was, should he take this offer for information or not?  He doubted he was authorized, but he also didn't think he was forbidden.  This was liked how Pietro kept giving him gum, something Karpov seemed annoyed by but not enough to actually tell him no.

He had time to kill.  Three or four months ago, he would have been content to sit and wait, his mind an utterly blank slate.  But he hadn't had any retraining sessions for a long time and now his mind always seemed to be buzzing with confusion and indecision and emotions he couldn't really put a word to.

"You may show me," he said, tone guarded.  If the omega was trying to curry favor with him hoping it would benefit him later, it didn't matter.  When Karpov eventually came for him (he always did, after all), then he would follow orders, whatever they were.  But there was no harm, as far as he could tell, in gaining some new insight to bonding.

He understood bonding in a very intellectual way, the same way he understood "love" or "ownership."  But in his life these things were only hypotheticals. He did not love and he did not own things. He understood that people could be irrational and therefore manipulated with such things, but for him and, he assumed, Karpov, these follies were simply nonexistent.  Bonding was something he didn't have and that didn't, to his awareness, affect him in any way, but he was extremely interested to know what insight the blond could give him.

Besides, he liked the attention.  He liked it a lot. The blond's eyes were blue, like the sky over a field of tulips in France, and he liked looking at them.

Steve hated the fact that they had cameras on them. He wanted to tell Bucky everything but he also didn't want HYDRA to know what they had no right to know. How much Steve had loved him, how much it hurt to watch him fall. Steve couldn't express these things without feeling exposed to his very enemies. It was a test of his conviction.

Bucky was blank. Like there wasn't a real person there. Like Steve could only see flickers. But every time he saw a flicker his heart seized in his chest. It was hope. Hope that Bucky would remember, hope that Bucky would get him out of here.

Steve moved to stand shakily, not letting Bucky help him with his bad ankle. He did not want pity. He did not want charity.

He moved to pull down the collar of his dark jacket, a little ripped across the torso from when he nearly fell off the roof. It felt weird to expose his neck to the cameras; the back of an omega's neck was a private place.  "You left a mark like this once. But this one isn't yours anymore." Steve swallowed, gaze flitting down to avoid watching Bucky's face as he revealed the very permanent mark the other Alpha had left upon him.  "It means that he will find me eventually, probably. And it means that he will, probably, try to kill you."

The soldier knew all about bonding marks.  He'd seen plenty. He knew what was coming when the omega began to pull down the collar of his jacket.

What he was _not_ prepared for was his reaction when he saw the bite mark.

He felt immediate revulsion, anger, confusion, disorientation.  It was the feeling of running up a flight of dark stairs and thinking there's an extra step and feeling his foot falling through the empty darkness... it was unsettling, horrifying, and staring at it, he felt like he'd just witnessed some great tragedy.

"No," he whispered hoarsely without realizing it.  "No..."

It looked _wrong_.  He hadn't realized it until Steve had revealed it.  He had expected the mark to look different. That wasn't the right mark, not at all.

He reached for the omega, shaking.  The omega had said something about someone but the words hadn't processed; he couldn't get the image out of his mind.  The sight of that mark was burned into his brain, crowding out all other thoughts.

"No... Stevie..."

He felt a drop of liquid trailing down his cheek.  He looked up in confusion, but he could not determine where the water had come from.  He swiped away the water on his face.

When Steve turned back around he was shocked at what he saw. His eyes went wide when he saw Bucky crying. A lump swelled in his throat. "Bucky. It's okay," Steve whispered and moved to cup Bucky's cheeks, brushing away his tears with the pads of his thumbs.

Steve realised he'd gotten close, too close, but didn't feel he could pull away. He was breathing a little heavily and leaning on Bucky because it was still hard to stand.

The omega came to him and reached out and he was touching his face, but that didn't make it better.  Bucky was feeling some weird emotion, something he hadn't felt in a long time, and he didn't like it at all; it made his throat feel tight and his stomach hurt and his face was wet.

"It didn't hurt." Steve added, not sure how to quell the concern racing through Bucky's eyes. "Don't cry. It's okay. It's okay."

He kept saying it like that would make it true. It wouldn't. Steve was very aware of that.

He tried to meet his gaze but it felt like he was staring out of a window, not into one.

"Bucky," Steve pressed. "Talk to me."

"No.  It's not okay... that's not my mark," he said.

He didn't understand.

He had thought that the omega couldn't possibly hurt him and yet he was definitely hurt, internally.  Revealing that mark had done something terrible to him. He was injured, somehow.

He had expected it to look different.

_A memory:_

_They were marching though the woods.  Steve was leading them. The men were in high spirits, laughing... liberated._

_And Bucky felt like perhaps he'd died and gone to heaven.  Here was his omega, strong, tall, healthy, proud. Steve had become, on the outside, exactly what he had always been on the inside.  And he'd come for Bucky. Bucky walked beside him, wanting to brag, wanting to shout to all the men, over three hundred of them, that they all owed their lives to this man, this omega, who happened to be_ his.

_He was having trouble keeping up with Steve.  Steve's strides were long and Bucky didn't understand why Steve was leading them, exactly.  He was the Alpha; he was supposed to be in the front, but Steve kept moving, keeping Bucky a pace behind him._

_And that's how he ended up seeing the back of Steve's neck._

_He froze.  The men who were following Steve flowed around him, but for Bucky, time had frozen and he stood there in the cold pine forest._

_The mark was gone.  His mark._

_Whatever they'd done to make Steve healthy, to make him strong, had done more than just that.  It had erased their bond._

_Bucky let himself fall back, to the very end of the procession of men, where he had a quick, angry cry._

_But by the time they made it back to base, he had resumed his place at Steve's side, his face dry and expressionless.  And they never talked about it, the mark that had disappeared like it was nothing more than another one of Steve's many ailments._

Bucky was crying in earnest but he didn't realize it.  He pulled away from the omega.

The omega was dangerous, far more dangerous than the soldier had realized.  He pressed against the cell door. "Karpov!" he called desperately. "полковник Карпов!"  He clawed uselessly at the door. He wanted to be safe, he wanted to be with his Alpha, his handler.  He wanted to be away from this omega, who had hurt him just by showing him his neck.

He'd never experienced pain like that, not that he was aware of.  He'd been shot and stabbed and hit in the back of the head with a cast-iron skillet, but this... this was unbearable, his heart was straining, he couldn't figure out what this feeling was except that he didn't like it at all and he probably needed medical attention.

"полковник Карпов!" he repeated, hopelessly.  He turned, staring at the omega, his vision blurry with tears.  "What did you do?" he demanded. Was he having a heart attack, was that it?  His heart and stomach were both twisting terribly, constricting, aching.. " _What is this_?"

Steve watched Bucky collapse in on himself and writhe in apparent agony with an odd kind of gleam in his eyes. He knew exactly what Bucky was feeling; the sensation ached in his own chest. Steve had felt it once too; every night when Bucky had brought girls home, pushing his hands away from him.  Yes, he'd felt it.  He knew it well.

Fate was a cruel thing, wasn't it?

Steve didn't move to comfort him. He just stood there, watching Bucky in distress. His hands flexed by his sides like he itched to move but he didn't. He just stood there.

"It's the feeling of rejection," Steve informed him. "You made me feel it every day. You made me feel broken. And useless. And unwanted. And unloved. And even though the rest of the time you were a sweetheart to me... that didn't make it okay. That's not how it works."  Tears welled up in his eyes but didn't spill. Steve swallowed.  "You wouldn't even touch me. You would never touch me. I'd never felt so broken. Well now you can feel it too," Steve breathed, voice trembling a little. "You shouldn't've bitten me.  But it doesn't matter now.  I'm not really yours, not anymore. Not that you ever really took me as your own in the first place.  You only bonded me 'cause you were tryin' to protect me.  But I don't think you really cared about me as a mate."

"I'm sorry," gasped Bucky.  He had no memory of making anyone feeling this.  He had rarely been used for interrogation. There were dedicated interrogators for that purpose, men who had been trained for that, whose sole job was to extract information.  The Winter Soldier was merely an assassin and his job was to eliminate targets, quickly, smoothly. Many died before they even had a chance to scream.

So while he didn't understand the accusation, he still found himself apologizing, because the thought of doing such a horrible thing to someone was devastating.

This was yet another new emotion: sympathy.

"I w-want you, please," he begged.  "I want you now, I want to touch you, I'm sorry.  Make it stop. It hurts. Please. I don't want to feel this anymore."

The blond was staring down at him haughtily.  An omega with power, pride, dignity... what a weird thing.

Bucky reached for him.  "I _do_ want you.  Please. Please?"

Bucky couldn't remember ever asking for anything other than orders, or necessities.  This wasn't a need but a _want_.  He _wanted_ this omega  He wanted something from him, and he couldn't really articulate what, but he knew this was something he'd been missing and now that he'd found it he couldn't stand to let it go.

"No.  It's too late for that now.  About eighty years too late.  And even if I was willing to let you touch me, which I'm not, you aren't in a state of mind even capable of consenting right now. And there are cameras watching us. And we're locked in a cage," Steve pointed out calmly, backing away against the wall; it made easier to stand and it felt safer to put some distance between them. He swallowed back his tears. It was so hard to see and hear Bucky like this, reaching for him and asking for him.

"I can't make it stop," Steve said after a moment, voice a touch softer. "I'm sorry."  He sighed and stared down at his feet. "I'll sit with you, if that will make you feel better. But if you try _anything_ I will elbow you in the face," Steve said, eyes flitting back up to watch Bucky's face. "Do you understand, Buck?"

He nodded to Steve; yes, he understood, though he wasn't sure what "trying anything" constituted.

"The m-mark on your n-neck," said Bucky, staring at him with wide eyes.  "What h-happened to it?"

He hadn't felt this raw, this woken, for a long, long time.  Longer than he could possibly remember. He felt like he was just waking from a terrible dream and everything was shockingly clear, so much clearer than the uncanny fuzziness of the dream.

"Can we hold hands again?" he asked, hopeful, desperate.

He looked out the clear door again, but the hall was still empty.  Where the hell was Karpov? How could Karpov abandon him like this?  He wanted Karpov. Wanted the comfort his handler provided to him, the knowledge that the world was an ordered place and that he was a cog that rolled smoothly through it.  A grain of sand on a vast, incomprehensible beach that only needed to _be_ , not to _think_.

He was crying again but only because he felt hopelessly confused.  He was like an over-stimulated child and didn't know how to deal with any of these unfamiliar feelings.  For the first time ever, he wished for a retraining session, wished he could wake up to the feeling of nothing, to be given orders and to carry them out and to have no thoughts or emotions.  This wasn't right. None of this right. He didn't even know how he'd come to be here.

"W-where's my arm?" he asked suddenly, panic rising in his voice, and for the first time since the forties, he realized his left arm was missing.


	32. Prisoner of War, part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my update was a day late, have two chapters instead of one. Also, look up Hadrahmaut for an extra-fun etymology Easter egg!

"Come on, Tony.  You and him are connected.  Search for him."

"I'm _trying."_

Tony was lying on a couch in the break room with the others gathered around him.  They'd dimmed the lights; Tony had an arm slung over his eyes and he was trying to see if he could feel Steve.  He'd been actively trying not to think about Steve and to ignore anything remotely Steve-related for over a month; now, he was struggling to relocate the feeling of his mate, a sensation that had been constant for eight months and that he'd come accustomed to having.

"Any information at all, Tony, anything could be useful... come on... what does he feel?  That's the easiest part, emotions. What's Steve feeling?" prompted Natasha softly.

"...hungry," said Tony after a long pause.

Natasha looked ready to punch him.  "Hunger isn't an emotion."

"Well, that's what I feel, I feel hungry!"

"I don't think that's--"

"--I know it's not mine, I had two Big Macs on the way over here," said Tony, peeking from under his arm.

Natasha scoffed.  Even Phil looked irritated.

"You can't possibly be this emotionally constipated."

"...what if they're not feeding Steve?" said Tony with alarm, sitting up.

Natasha and Sam pushed him back down.

"Tony.  Focus," said Sam.  "Relax. Think about the way he smells.  Think about his face. His eyes. The way he moves..."

"Okay..." said Tony, trying to relax into the couch.  "...I feel... lemme think... I feel... definitely hungry."

"Damn it, Stark!" exclaimed Natasha.

"Okay, someone get him something to eat," said Phil, who looked like he was ready to lose patience too.

"...hungry... thirsty... I definitely really have to go to the bathroom..."

" _Do you even know what an emotion is_?"

"...guilty..."

"That could be Steve!" said Clint eagerly.

"More likely it's Tony, feeling guilty for the way he's been treating Steve the last month," growled Natasha.

"You know I can hear you, right?" snapped Tony, peeking out from under his arm again.  "I'm _trying_ to feel him but I just.. I can't, I'm too hungry, can we take a break?"

"Oh my God..." moaned Natasha, putting a hand over her face.

"It's not fair to ask me to try to concentrate on this, it's _hard,_ okay, I'm actually trying but I can't focus, and I really have to go to the bathroom, okay, like, they didn't even provide a fuckin' bucket."

There was a pause.

"... _that's Steve!_ " said Sam.

"Tony!  Follow that!" said Clint eagerly.

Tony's eyes widened.  "Okay! I'm hungry! I'm thirsty!  I've got to pee!" He tried to focus on these ideas but it was like trying to focus on one of the floating swigglies in your eye; any attempt to look at it head-on made it evaporate.  He squeezed his eyes closed so hard that it hurt. "...they didn't even provide a bucket," he repeated. "...there's just a drain in the floor."

"Are you hot?  Cold?" prompted Sam.

"I'm... I think I'm... more cold than hot, I think.  I... feel..." Tony shook his head. "This is hard."

"It wouldn't be if you hadn't spent the last month trying to dismiss your bond," muttered Natasha under her breath.  Sam shot her a look of warning. That wasn't helpful.

"Well, now I feel guilty."

"Tony.  Describe how Steve smells," said Sam.

Tony huffed.  "I don't know.  ...warm. Comforting.  Like... warm... yeasty... musky..."

"No.  Those are actual smells.  Associations. What does Steve's smell make you think of?  Word association, Tony. Imagine Steve's smell. Just say the first thing that pops into your mind."

"Orchids?" guessed Tony.

"Great.  What else?" said Sam encouragingly.

"I don't know.  Sleep."

"Keep going.  New one each time, Tony.  Steve..." prompted Sam.

"Snow?

"Steve?"

"Smoke."

"Steve?"

"Seasalt."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the exercise.  Tony seemed to just be saying random words that started with the same letter as Steve's name, but Sam seemed intensely invested in prying something out of him.

"Steve?"

"Apple pie."

"Steve?"

"Beach."  Tony sounded a lot more confident now, and he was going faster.

"Keep going."

"Jazz.  Taylor Swift."

Sam said nothing, but Tony had pick up a natural rhythm of words.

"Dog tags!  Blue! Rejection!  Crying. Freight car.  Rusted. Longing. Homecoming.  Blood. Consent." His eyes snapped open suddenly; he sat bolt upright.

Everyone was leaning forward.

"...that's not helpful," said Tony, looking miserable.  He looked down at his hands in his lap.

"It might be helpful.  What about freight car?  Do you think they moved him by train?" suggested Clint.

"This is all my fault.  I shouldn't have pushed him away."

"No.  You shouldn't have.  But we can't go back in time so let's focus on finding him," said Natasha brusquely.

Tony closed his eyes again.

* * *

Bucky had a lot of questions.  About their bonding mark and what had happened to it.  About his arm and what had happened to it.  None of them were questions that were easy to answer, but Steve had to at least try.

"The serum took our mark away," Steve murmured. "But I had a scan. It's still _there_. It's just underneath my skin so you can't see it anymore," he explained, staring down at his hands. Fuck. He really needed to pee but now wasn't the time to be undoing his pants in front of Bucky.

"Can I hold your hand?" asked Bucky.  He was crying, though his expression was hard and neutral.  Steve got the impression he no longer made facial expressions very often.

"We can hold hands," Steve affirmed after a moment. He cautiously moved to sit down next to Bucky. It was awkward. He moved to take his human hand in both of his hand and cradled it against his own chest. Bucky's hand was warm, his own were cold.

Bucky's fingers were rough.

Steve leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder as he cried silently, unsure what comfort he could offer him beyond this. When the other asked about his arm again, he wanted to cry himself.

"You lost it in a fall," Steve whispered. "In the snow. I'm sorry Buck. I tried to catch you but I didn't. Watching you fall is the hardest thing I've ever experienced."

"I don't remember," said Bucky, voice rough with emotion.

"We should try to sleep.  We don't know how long they're going to leave us in here for."

Bucky felt the weight of Steve's head on his shoulder and his fingers lacing through his own, and he curled into him.

His left arm itched; now that he was aware that it was missing the itching was nearly unbearable.

He nuzzled Steve's hair, breathing in his smell, pressing into him, clinging to his hand.  He could feel Steve's heart pounding in his chest. He remembered when that heart used to flutter, when that chest used to be nothing more than skin stretched over bone.  And yet how brave, how assertive his sick, weak little omega had been. Gutsy, full of bravado, even though the odds were always stacked against him.

"Steve," he said throatily.

He didn't remember falling.  He didn't know what Steve meant, that he'd tried to catch him.

The deluge of new information and emotions was exhausting.  He pressed closer to Steve. Sleep did seem like an appealing option.  He closed his eyes, still snuffling miserably, heart pounding. His fucking arm was missing, his fucking omega had some other guy's mark on him...

"Steve, I miss you... I wanna go home, I miss Brooklyn... Stevie... my Stevie..." he mumbled. 

"I missed you too," Steve said, words thick. "Missed you from the day I woke up. Before I even knew you were alive..." Then he fell quiet.  Bucky fell asleep before Steve did, the weight of the last hour catching up to him.  Eventually, Steve drifted off too. It was strange to sleep next to him, a man he thought was dead for so long, a man he knew was a ruthless and efficient killer.

He woke up to footsteps around the cell. The man in the suit was pacing outside as a scientist wrote down notes rather intently. "Interesting. That they slept together. Maybe we won't need in the inducers."

"Surely it will increase the rate of success?"

"The Winter Soldier may become unpredictable. We may not be able to reset him if he goes feral.  That is Karpov's greatest fear."

Steve kept his eyes shut. He pretended to be asleep.

"What's the next step?" Steve heard the director's voice. Bucky was warm and solid against him. He seemed to be asleep too.

"We're still working through the blood samples. But to know if we can get results from might take months, or years.  We've been working with the serum samples from the eighties without any success."

"Eve's been partially successful, though, hasn't it?  There are a few who are semi-functional?"

"We need fully functional soldiers.  Not semi-functional ones."

"Hm, yes. Well, regardless of how long Project Eve takes, we'll at least have Project Heirloom to fall back on. SHIELD will be looking for him. They brought in Sitwell, no doubt the little rat told them everything. Fortunately, he didn't know much. But it means they know he's with us. And because of the bond Stark will eventually get here, one way or another. We need to do something about that."

"...does the soldier need to get back to Karpov, or--" began the scientist.

"No.  Leave him," said the director.  "Frankly, I don't care whether or not we can reset him or how unpredictable he gets.  Project Guiding Star is over; the Winter Soldier project has Captain America now; the only real purpose the asset serves is for breeding.  Lucky stud." He chuckled a little before growing serious. "Perhaps we could have him come here, have him order the asset to bite over Stark's mark.  Does that work? Can you just replace it? If that doesn't work then I suppose we'll just have to let the witch after him. I'm sure she can handle Stark on her own.  She'd been begging to get her hands on him for years, anyway."

"...do you want me to feed them?" asked the scientist, looking up.

"Not yet.  Hunger can be an excellent motivation.  Maybe give them some water in the morning, if you have time."

The director turned and walked away; the scientist stayed for another several minutes, taking notes.

Bucky shifted a little in his sleep, seeking for more contact with Steve.

The scientist walked out and there was the sound of a door closing down the hall; a moment later, a young, blond omega was standing in front of the door.  He was in track pants and a t-shirt, and his arm was in a sling, his hand heavily bandaged. He rapped his knuckles against the glass.

Bucky jolted awake and sat up blearily.

"Hi James.  It's me. Pietro," said Pietro, who found that Bucky's memory didn't always allow him to remember names well, especially when he'd only just woken up.

Bucky blinked in confusion.

"где полковник Карпов?"

Pietro pointed up, then added, "он пьян."

"...он приходит?" asked Bucky hopefully.

"не скоро."

Bucky's face fell.

"But look, I brought you cigarettes."

"Oh, thanks.  ...I need a lighter."

Pietro held up a lighter with a grin.  Bucky grinned back and got up. He felt stiff from sleeping on the floor; he stretched, the gears in his left arm whirring and clicking.

He reached his good hand through the slot in the door and Pietro passed him the cigarettes and the lighter.

"You're not authorized to be here."

"Well, that's never stopped me," said Pietro with an unconcerned shrug.  "What are _you_ doing here?"

"They left me here," said Bucky mildly.  He didn't really question why he ended up anywhere; he assumed HYDRA knew what it was doing.  He wasn't supposed to ask why.

"Do you need water?"

Bucky stared at him blankly, not sure.

"James.  Focus. Water.  Do you need it?"

Bucky kept staring.  Now that he was awake, it was all coming back.

The ugly, unfamiliar mark on Steve's neck.  The terrible feeling in his heart.

He lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

Pietro was staring at the writing on the wall, his face a mask.

"He needs water. We both need water," Steve said, his throat parched as he said it. The other omega nodded and briefly disappeared before he returned with a water bottle. Steve pushed the small tray back so it could be filled. Pietro filled it then pushed it back through the slot.

Steve got Bucky to drink three full trays, even brushing back his hair with the long strands tried to stick to his mouth. He was gentle with him, kind even, despite the fact that he knew what they intended to have the Winter Soldier do to him.

Steve downed plenty of water himself, sighing in relief as the cool liquid slipped down his throat. It was a wonderful feeling. "Thank you," he told Pietro and he meant it.

The omega just nodded, glancing between him and the blood on the wall.

Bucky was trying to hold Steve's hand again. He let him. There was no harm in it. The edge of Pietro's lips twitched up.

"You could help us get out of here," Steve said as if he was stating a fact.

"Stark will be coming here. It's a waiting game. You're the bait," Pietro said simply as he pushed through another tray of water for good measure.

"Killing him won't change what he did," Steve said calmly and suddenly he twin looked furious. Steve straightened up.  "Killing Johann Schmidt just made me more like him. I enjoyed doing it but it wasn't a good feeling."

Pietro stood wordlessly and walked out, his face blank but his eyes stormy beneath the surface. Steve swallowed as he watched the omega go. He'd said the wrong thing, maybe. Steve sighed and leaned against Bucky.

Bucky listened to the exchange only half-understanding it.

He closed his eyes with pleasure when Steve brushed away his hair; when Pietro left, Steve leaned into him, and he put his right arm around him.  His face didn't make many expressions. It was only through his actions that his feelings could be read... if you could call them "feelings."

_Stark._  That name kept coming up.  Bucky understood that well enough.

"Howard never treated you right," he offered, half-remembering.  His brow furrowed. "Always bragging how he created perfection, how you were his greatest creation... always trying to touch you.  That guy was a bastard."

Steve leaned his head on his shoulder. It was comfortable like this and he almost missed having a partner that was taller than him. With Tony he had to half curl in on himself, or slide down to put his head on his shoulder. This was comfortable, or would be, if he wasn't starving and locked up.

"I never let him--" Steve didn't finish that sentence, pressing his lips into a thin line.  "This isn't the same Stark, you know that right? Howard and Tony. They're different people. I would never have let Howard bond me; guy was a jerk." He smiled almost sadly. "But then all guys were jerks back then."

"...you can mate without bonding," said Bucky, rubbing his cheek on Steve's hair.  "Stark never wanted to bond you. Just get his dick wet. That's how he is." He paused.  "...Tony... he's the one... he's the one you said was happy? About losing the pup? ...must be some Stark curse, bein' a jerk."

_Stark_.  That was the guy who had ruined his mark.  That was the guy who had fucked up Steve's neck, made it look wrong.  Bucky was bristling a little just from thinking about him; he knew where Wanda and Pietro were coming from and he whole-heartedly supported their campaign to end the Starks.

"Don't say that," Steve mumbled and pulled away. He curled in on himself, legs against his chest and frowned deeply as he rested his chin on his knees. He frowned at the floor. "Don't..." Doubt curled in Steve's gut. Maybe it was true. Maybe Tony just thought it would be funny to claim Captain America: the one thing his dad had wanted but could never have. Maybe that's why he was so frustrated with Steve; he didn't actually want to be bonded to--

_Stop_. Thinking like wasn't going to get Steve anywhere. It would just make him more upset.

He could feel lovesick later.  Right now, he had to focus on escape.

Regardless of Tony's motivations, they were still bonded.  And Steve could use that.

"Buck?" Steve's voice got a touch softer, almost a whisper. "Do you know the co-ordinates for this base?"

He drew away a little when Steve whispered to him.

"Yes," he whispered back.  Of course he knew the coordinates of all the bases.  That was critical information. He slid their hands together again and rubbed his thumb over the back of Steve's hand.

Steve rested his cheek on his knee and turned his head to look at Bucky. "Will you tell me?" he asked in a whisper, and obviously the other looked uncomfortable at the idea. "Come on Buck, I'm already in here. Who am I gonna tell?"

Steve's gaze dragged over the Alpha. "Please?"

* * *

Tony was lying on a new couch, in full armor.  Phil had suggested that sensory deprivation might help Tony find Steve.  Everyone was gathered around, watching the limp suit of armor draped over the couch, Tony inside it.

Tony was taking a break, playing Pong inside his helmet.

"Anything, Tony?"

"Nope," said Tony, tracking the ball with his eyes.  "...I still gotta pee."

"He's hopeless.  Let's rough up Sitwell again," said Clint.

"Sitwell doesn't know anything," said Phil.

"I didn't say he did, I just thought it would make us feel better."

Phil sighed and wrapped his knuckles on the helmet.  "Let's take a break. Go back to the flowchart. We can probably eliminate at least half of the known bases as holding sites, right?"

"Yeah, a break sounds good," agreed Tony as he missed the ball and JARVIS flashed "I WIN" across the screen at him.

* * *

"I...I keep telling you! He asked for HYDRA. He didn't ask for SHIELD.  But he didn't tell me anything, I swear.  Just that he wanted revenge!"

"You were a rat. He already knew. How?" Sam demanded, slamming his fist on the desk. The rest of them watched from outside for now.

"He..." Sitwell laughed and ran a hand over his face. He sounded manic. "He said he knew because I didn't like him! Can you believe that?"

Sam almost smiled. "Yeah. That actually sounds like him. But you said he _asked_ for HYDRA?"

"I think he wanted to be taken in. Or he wanted a fight. Either way, that's where he ended up." Jasper said. "I swear. This is all I know. Please! I don't know anything else!"

Sam left him to quiver on his own and stepped outside. He shut the door behind him then leaned against it. "Why the fuck would Steve call HYDRA?"

"Revenge," said Clint and Natasha in sync.  They shared a small, mean little smile with each other.

" _Bucky_ ," said Tony.

Everyone looked over.  Tony was sitting in a chair too small for the armor.  He'd taken off the helmet and set it on the table, and was staring at it, his gaze distant.  His metal fingers drummed on the table.

"Bucky.  The Winter Soldier.  I gave Steve up so now he'd going back to his other mate.  All that bullshit about how I'm the only one... yeah. No. He's with Bucky right now.  Bucky's _taller._ "

Everyone's attention was on Tony now.

"He's with the Winter Soldier?" repeated Natasha.

"Uh-huh.  Snuggling up to him, holding his hand and shit," he grumbled miserably.

"Tony.  Tony! Can you feel him?"

"Yeah, of course I can--"  Tony looked up suddenly, eyes lit up.  "--I can feel him!"

"Holding his hand?" Sam hissed. "What the actual fuck is going on?  Also, don't you dare talk shit Stark. You left him first--"

"Sam," Natasha put a hand on his arm. "Not now. Let's find Steve then you can fight later. If the Winter Soldier isn't being violent, that can only be a good thing," she pointed out and Phil hummed.

"Tony, focus.  Where is he?" asked Clint eagerly, leaning forward.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating.

* * *

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating.  "I... I'm not authorized. It's classified," he said.  He felt conflicted. He really wanted to give Steve everything but he also know he wasn't allowed to divulge that sort of information.  Steve had a point; who would he tell? But there were no addendums to Bucky's orders not to reveal mission details or locations. He couldn't tell Steve even though he wanted to; doing so would be defying a direct order.

He scooted closer to Steve, pressing their bodies together, and put an arm around his shoulders.  He leaned in to nose his neck gently.

"Please Bucky?" Steve asked in a murmur. He let Bucky nose against his neck and admittedly shivered at the sensation. He would have felt guilty about this a month ago but Tony had made it pretty goddamn clear he didn't want him anymore, that he didn't care about him. He was still hyperly aware of the fact that Bucky wasn't himself. He didn't even know who he sat cosied up against anymore.

"What if I gave you a kiss? Would you tell me then?"

* * *

"I'm _trying_.  It's like, when I don't think about it, I can think about it, but once I start thinking about it, I can't think about it anymore," said Tony in frustration, pressing his fingers into his temples as if he could squeeze the information out of his mind like juice from an orange.

"Then don't think about it," said Phil.  "What were you thinking about before?"

"I don't know.  ...nothing."

"Come on, you're always thinking _something_.  You're Tony Stark.  What were you thinking about?"

"...that I need a drink.  ...that Natasha looks hot when she's angry.  ...that it's funny that the thermal conductivity of silver is 420.  ...that I feel like I could probably apply the Cauchy-Schwarz inequality principle to my trio with Steve and Bucky.  ...that Bucky is a stupid name. ...that if the construction process of a Prius began with the frame and has the individual components fabricated individually onto the substrate and then integrated, it would be a _double_ hybrid in both the combustion-based and electrical engineering sense of the word."

Everyone exchanged glances.

"Its not a fucking trio," said Sam suddenly.

"Yeah?  Then how come Steve's letting Bucky nuzzle into his neck, huh?" snapped Tony.

"Wait... is he tied down or something?" asked Clint.

"No, he's just letting-- oh!  Oh, I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

"Keep it, Tony.  Focus," instructed Phil.

Tony's excitement had given way to a look of disgust.  "Why bother? He's got his other mate. I don't want this stupid bond anymore.  He'd rather have Bucky, anyway."

"God damn it, Tony!"

* * *

The Winter Soldier. had never been tempted before.

But inhaling Steve's scent, pressing into the warm solidness of his body...

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone the location of the bases," mumbled Bucky.  He was being asked to go against his very programming. Karpov would never let him tell Steve their coordinates, he knew that.  "...would... would it be with tongue?" he asked, remembering how upset Steve was about the tongue thing.

"Yeah....yeah if you tell me. Sure Buck," Steve whispered, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He hated himself for doing it but he knew what he had to do.

Maybe he could tell him without telling him, somehow.  It was certainly enticing, and Bucky was already so close to Steve, caressing him, nosing his neck, just behind his ears, where the scent glands were...

...he really wasn't supposed to tell anyone the coordinates.

...but it probably would be okay to at least tell him the general area they were in.  After all, Steve had already seen it, coming out of the plane, that was no different than telling him the weather, right?

"We're in Hadhramaut.  In Yemen," he said, hand still stroking Steve's arm.

"Thank you Buck," Steve smiled when he told him where, a strange sense of relief blossoming in his chest. He knew that Tony would be able to feel it. And he was counting on it. This was his one chance out of here. He could only hoped that SHIELD had noticed he was taken, that they'd dragged Tony into the man hunt...Natasha was a scary woman to say no to.

Bucky beamed.  "You're welcome," he said.

And then he kissed him, Steve's hand braced against his chest.  Eyes closed, leaning forward to press their lips together, he let Bucky push his tongue into his mouth and he concentrated as hard as he could.

_YEMEN. HADHRAMAUT. YEMEN. HADHRAMAUT._

Steve's fingertips were on his heart, and Bucky felt like he was melting.  Steve's lips parted and he gently pushed their tongues together, and he could remember how desperately he'd wanted this, years ago, it felt like, when they would sit side by side on the faded old brown couch and listen to the radio and kiss gently and hold hands.  Steve's mouth was like coming home. He reached up to wrap his hand around Steve's on his chest, nudging softly against Steve's mouth, tasting him, moving his own mouth languidly. And for once, he wasn't thinking about Karpov, or HYDRA, or his orders. He was only thinking about Steve.  And he was happy.

* * *

"Come on, Tony, mates aren't designed to be away from each other.  This should come naturally."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't for me, okay?  I must be broken or something," said Tony, putting his fingers through his hair and staring at the surface of the table.

"If you could go anywhere in the world..." prompted Clint.

"...the nearest bar."

"Is everything a fucking joke to you?" demanded Sam.

"Yeah, man!"  Tony suddenly stood up so fast he knocked over the chair he'd been sitting in and upset the table; his helmet rolled onto the floor with a loud metal clang.  Tony's eyes were wild. "Yeah, man," he repeated slowly. "...yeah… man… _Yemen_.  He's in Yemen."

"What?" said Natasha, eyes widening.  She and Phil had both reached for the holsters at their hips, automatically, at Tony's sudden rising, and Clint was reaching for the bow slung over his back.

"Yemen.  HYDRA... HYDRA... no... _hadra!  Hadra_ mawt!"

"Hadrhamaut, Yemen?" repeated Natasha.  "...okay. That narrows it down. What else?"

"It's underground.  There's a tiny little building, in the desert.  The rest is underground."

" _What else_?" she pressed.

Tony shook his head.  "That's it, that's all.  He's in Yemen. That's all I know."

"Do we know any possible bases in Yemen?" Natasha asked Phil, who was typing away furiously on his tablet.

"We have some queries. Four different possibles. But nothing has been confirmed."

Clint sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Time to confirm it. We each hit a possible base. Find out which one Steve is in, if he is, and make a plan of attack. We only get one shot at this. If they know we're coming they might get a chance to move him before we get him."

Sam nodded slowly, his gaze drifting over to Tony. "And are you coming?"

Tony's jaw tightened.  "Yeah. I'm coming."

"Just to be clear, we're going to get Steve.  Not to engage the Winter Soldier," said Natasha, who had an idea of what Tony was after.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Let's go," said Tony, stooping to grab his helmet.  She frowned and exchanged a look with Clint. There was no doubt in her mind that if they came across the Winter Soldier, Tony would completely lose focus and the fight he would get into wouldn't be one based on logic, but on Alpha instinct.

"You understand we need this to be a covert operation, to give us the best chance of getting Steve out alive?" asked Sam.

That made Tony pause.

"...Steve has to be our top priority.  Not the Winter Soldier," said Sam.

Tony gave a small nod.  "Yeah. I get it. Steve's our top priority."  He pushed his head into his helmet, then added, "Of course he's my top priority... he's my omega."

* * *

Steve's lips tingled. The shape of Bucky's mouth was familiar to him but this was different. He shivered as Bucky's tongue nudged against his own and soon his thoughts went offline and the kiss was deepening to a point he hadn't anticipated. "Bucky. Buck-" Steve's cheeks were a little flushed and he was a little breathless. He couldn't speak because Bucky was kissing him again. He eventually pushed him away with the hand on his chest.

"Down boy," he joked gently and ran a hand over his face. Steve let out an awkward chuckle. Fuck. "Right. That's it. I'm breaking. I need to pee."

Bucky gave a tiny whine of protest when Steve finally pushed him away.  That was, hands-down, probably the best experience of his entire life. That he remembered, anyway.

He looked at Steve longingly, an almost-smile on his face.

"Oh.  Okay," said Bucky, not looking away.  He had a gooey look on his face, the kind of look Tony occasionally gave to cheesecakes and bottles of scotch and circuit boards.

The expression on Bucky's face made his heart beat faster. Steve both hated it and loved it at the same time.

He pushed his hair back from his face.  The Winter Soldier had an incredible ability to be perfectly immobile for long periods of time without fidgeting, but right now, there was no trace of the soldier.  Just Bucky. Albeit a rather confused, child-like Bucky. A Bucky that had been hit really hard in the head, maybe.

Steve didn't think there was an angle where he wasn't exposing himself; he pulled himself out of his pants and urinated into the drain in the floor, annoyed at the idea of people watching him through their cameras.

Despite the dehumanizing conditions and the embarrassment, Steve felt _so_ much better after he peed. He sighed in relief and slump back down, his arm brushing against Bucky's metal one. Now it was just a waiting game, to see if the kiss had actually done anything. Maybe they wouldn't come...but maybe they would. Steve didn't want to be kept here, bred, studied, an unwilling pawn in HYDRA's game.  When he'd said before that he would rather die, he was serious... but he really didn't want it to come to that.

He didn't have time to think about it though. He heard footsteps. He recognised the director's heavy footfall, and there was two more with him, probably scientists. Wonderful. "Bucky," Steve whispered into his ear. "If they ask why we kissed. Don't tell them, okay? Make something up."

* * *

"He's not _yours_! Stop saying that!" Sam snapped. He'd been the most annoyed out of all of them. Mostly because he wasn't a spy and he wasn't as good at controlling his emotions. "You've ignored him for a month! You've treated him like shit! He ignored all our calls, he ignored us...but I guarantee that if you had tried to call him just _once_ he would have picked up.  Because he loves you. He gave you everything and you just-- you didn't even see it. This wasn't Steve trying to see _Bucky_ or get _revenge_. This was because he was fucking done. He was _fucking done_ Stark and that-- that is on you!"

"Alright. Alright," Clint said, hand on Sam's chest. He was pushing him away from Tony, trying to calm him down. The last thing they needed was a fight.

" _I_ treated _him_ like shit?" repeated Tony, looking shocked.  (He hadn't yet put on his face plate.)

He jabbed a finger at Sam.  "I never lied about who I was, or spied on him.  I never even opened his little sketchbook because I actually respected his privacy, which is more than we can say about him.  He kept me in the dark about his old mate, and ever since he came out as an omega, he's been stealing my spotlight while I just tag along as his supportive little partner.  Yeah, he gave me everything, all right, and it was a hell of a lot more than I bargained for. He should've told me everything before I mated him but he didn't, did he? I don't want to be part of some civil rights movement and, unlike you, I don't want to be bonded to another Alpha, so how about you keep the preaching to yourself, homo?" snapped Tony.

Sam swung.

Tony caught his hand in his fist easily.  "I'm in the suit, dumbass."

A moment later he was on the floor convulsing, a couple of taser leads in his cheek.

"I have a taser, dumbass," said Natasha.  "...you okay, Sam?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine," said Sam, glaring down at Tony.

"Oh, HR won't like this," said Phil mildly, watching Tony twitch on the floor.

"They can write us up when we get back from Yemen," said Clint.  "Nat, take that thing off of him and let's get to the jet."


	33. Prisoner of War, part IV

The director checked his watch impatiently as he tapped his foot just on the other side of Steve's cell.  "...late," he muttered in annoyance, then looked up at Steve and Bucky.  He smiled. "Well, look who's awake. Having fun yet, Captain? ...things are about to get even better.  I'm glad you approve of your new mate. It will make this much easier, no doubt."

"Right," Steve said, eyes on the director. His expression was blank and impassive, impossible to read. He looked over the scientists carefully. No more syringes, thank God.

"Old mate."

The director blinked in surprise at Bucky, who usually didn't speak unless asked a direct question.  "Excuse me?"

"I'm not his new mate.  I'm his old mate. We're bonded."  He looked over at Steve for clarification.  "Right?"

There was a bang from down the hall and suddenly Karpov was striding in, wearing his uniform, his beret perched jauntily on his head.

Bucky snapped to immediate attention.

Steve couldn't hide his dislike of the man. Something deadly flashed over his face whilst he imagined how easy it would be break the man's neck. Or maybe he'd rip his bottom jaw off. He wanted to make him suffer before he died.  Steve was normally one to make deaths swift and painless.  But this man did not deserve that.  What he had done to Bucky... he was evil.  Truly and fully _evil_.  He deserved to suffer.

Karpov nodded to Steve and then to the director.  The director glared. "You're late."

"My apologies."

"Not that we need you.  He got started on his own.  Watch the footage, it's very interesting."

Karpov frowned (clearly he'd not heard of any interesting footage), and turned to Bucky.  "солдат," he greeted him.

"сэр," said Bucky.  His body had gone stiff again, straight, and there was no doubt in Steve's mind that Bucky would have probably jumped off a cliff without hesitation if told to.

He'd lost Bucky to Karpov the minute the man had walked in. Even more reason for Steve to end him. Right now he was by himself. And he might have to fight Bucky if the other was given orders to hurt him. He would have moved to stand up but he also didn't want to embarrass himself.

"Are you going to finally feed us?" Steve asked, cocking his head at the director again. The man laughed gently.

"Even with your metabolism, we could keep you going without any food for weeks, I'm sure."

"Well if you won't feed me then will you at least give me something so I can set my ankle?" Steve asked. The director smiled sickly.

"Be grateful we haven't broken the other one, Captain."

A chill ran down his spine. Steve had a horrible image of them breaking both his feet so he couldn't run away, couldn't fight back properly... he couldn't help that his face fell a little at the thought.

"I'm sure that you, Captain, can appreciate a good deal when you see one.  I understand you're probably not yet willing to negotiate. Yet you've already made some demands of us.  So let me give you a counter-offer. Right now, you have nothing." The director gestured to Steve's cell.  "Cooperation will earn you rewards, such as food. Resistance will gain you nothing. The situation you find yourself in right now is not one in which you have any power, so frankly, it's rather generous of us to offer you incentives at all.  But we'd prefer this process to be easy. And, even luckier for you, there's very little we plan to ask of you, other than to fulfill your natural role."

He turned and nodded to Karpov.  "Colonel."

"солдат.  взять его."

Bucky lunged for Steve immediately.

"...enjoy, Captain," called the director, turning and waving a hand.

The two scientists didn't move, watching with interest, Karpov stifled a yawn and reached into his jacket for a flask, looking thoroughly exhausted.

"No!"

Steve got his good arm up and pressed against Bucky's left, knowing that if that metal arm pinned him down it was over. He had to keep it up and away from his face and torso. He felt his fingernails digging into the gaps between the plates and felt sick. The look in Bucky's eyes was empty and distant. He was alone. And he was starving. And he was so, so _tired_.

He could not even say how long he'd been here.  No food, only a little water, virtually no sleep.  He could have already been here for days, for all he knew.  He was shaky from hunger and his ankle was not doing any better.  Trying to push Bucky away was proving difficult even for him.

"Bucky. Bucky, please don't do this. Don't do it. You don't want to-- you don't want to do this!" Steve was screaming. No, he was begging. He didn't care. He didn't care what they thought of him. Fuck, he was close to crying. Because it wasn't just HYDRA doing this to him, it was _Bucky_ and...

And he had brought this on _himself_. He'd called them. He'd done this.

He was so fucking stupid.

Bucky _had_ to be in there somewhere.  The real Bucky would never hurt him.

His right arm was throbbing with the effort of keeping Bucky's metal arm away. Steve kicked at him with his still working foot. He was shaking. "Bucky," he whispered. "Bucky please.  You said you wouldn't hurt me, remember? You were scared of hurting me. This is going to hurt me a lot. _Please_."

The Winter Soldier grunted in annoyance; the omega was incredibly strong and was holding back his arm.  The muscles were bulging and quivering with effort; he felt the omega kick him in the stomach.

He stepped back suddenly, letting the blond's push against his metal arm unbalance him; then lunged forward again.  The two flopped to the floor.

"...rough night?" asked one of the scientists conversationally on the other side of the cell, watching the two supersoldiers grapple.

"You might say that," said Karpov, still sipping from the flask.

The Winter Soldier grabbed a fistful of blond hair in his right hand, yanking the omega off him, shoving him down with the left arm and straddling his hips. The blond was still fighting, yelling piercingly, begging.  He ignored him and laid down on him, pinning him, using his weight to his advantage, his face pressed into the other's neck--

That smell.

The soldier froze, still pressing down on him.

_"Jimmy... promise me..."  She took a rattling breath.  She was pale, her blue eyes rimmed with red, her blond hair straw-like.  The consumption was eating her away from the inside. James sat by her bed, holding her hand; he'd promised to look after her while Steve ran down to the store to get her medicine.  It wasn't helping. James felt like Steve needed the time alone; he'd seen tears in the omega's eyes when he grabbed his coat on the way out._

_"Promise me you'll take care of him, Jimmy.  Please promise me."_

_Her hand gripped his pleadingly._

_"Of course I will, Mrs. Rogers, he's my best pal.  I'm gonna watch out for him. I promise. I won't let nobody hurt him.  I promise."_

_"There's a good boy, Jimmy..." she said, coughing, patting his hand._

"...what's he doing?" asked one of the men in the lab coats.

Karpov looked up.  The soldier was lying on the blond but wasn't moving.  "солдат? ...солдат?" He walked over and tapped on the glass loudly.

The soldier breathed against the omega's neck quietly, still not moving.

Karpov swore.  "See, this is what I told her would happen!  The programming has to be _maintained_ !  It's not like a damned mental tattoo that just sticks there; conscious is _malleable_ , look at him, he's ruined!  ...I'll go get the book... fuck her, this is a waste of my time..."

He stormed out; the slam of a door echoed down the hallway.

"I heard he's getting sacked," said one scientist to the other.  "Probably tomorrow, if not later today."

"Don't think you really need mind control to convince a half-retarded Alpha to take a spade like that to town," said the other mildly.

Steve felt the very slightest brush of Bucky's nose on the back of his neck, just behind his ear.

Steve was shaking. It had been so close. The front of his head stung where it had smacked into the floor as Bucky had thrown him down. He had thought it was over but then- then Bucky had froze on top of him and it almost felt like there were on that rooftop again, snow whistling through the air around them. He let out a trembling breath of relief and rested his forehead back against the floor.

"Right," one scientist sighed. "I guess it's plan B. And his programming's already fucked anyway. A feral rut can't make it any worse than this."

"I think the colonel might be coming back," said the other.

The female scientist that had handed over the syringes before snorted. "I doubt this 'book' can fix _that_. I'll believe it when I see it."

Steve shifted his legs, seeing if he could push Bucky off him. Didn't seem likely. He swallowed and licked his lips. He was very aware that he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Buck?" He whispered. "Buck, get off. You're hurting me. Get off."

He wasn't really hurting Steve right now. But it felt like it was what he needed to say to get a reaction.

The soldier shifted a little, getting some of his weight off of the omega but still pinning his wrists down.

There was a slam and Karpov stormed back in, a thin red book under his arm.

"солдат.  ты не понимаешь?"

"I promised Sarah," he said in a low voice.  "I promised Sarah I would make sure he wouldn't get hurt."

" _Who the hell is Sarah_ ?  I'm your handler!  You take orders from _me_!"

"да, сэр."

"Now _take him_ or else I'll do it for you!"

Bucky's reaction was immediate, but probably not what Karpov had expected.  He let go of Steve and slammed against the glass door, clawing, snarling, instantly feral.  The threat of another Alpha to his omega had broken whatever last bit of consciousness was holding him together.

One of the scientists snorted and held her hand up to her face, trying not to laugh.

Karpov pulled open the book, cursing Dr. Ludheim softly under his breath.  "Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на Родину. Один. Товарный вагон."

A growl in the soldier's throat died.  "готовы соблюдать."

"добрый вечер, солдат."  Karpov turned to the scientists, who looked impressed.  "And _that_ is what Project Guiding Star could have accomplished, if they weren't so damned obsessed with making super soldiers instead."

"Wait, I thought you were a part of the Winter Soldier program?" asked one.

"No, I was with _Guiding Star_!" snapped Karpov furiously.  "The Winter Soldier program was only designed to create enhanced soldiers, not to control them.  And look what happened! ...This soldier here, he's the only one left from Guiding Star." He looked at Bucky with a nostalgic gaze.

"So do you want us to induce a heat or not?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, he won't do anything unless ordered."

"What, he won't have sex with an omega in heat?  Come on, that's a base instinct. The two of them were making out earlier and no one asked them to--"

" _What_?"  Karpov looked furious again.  " _That's not part of his programming._  Ludheim!"  He stormed off again, stumbling a little, then whipped around.  "ебать этого кролика, солдат!"

Then he turned and left with a slam of the door.

The soldier didn't move.

"Drunk as a fish," said one of the scientists, shaking her head.  "...I'll whip up an inducer."

"It's actually pretty fascinating," said the other, who was pressed up against the glass to shine a penlight in the Winter Soldier's eyes.  He squinted reflexively but didn't move to get away from the light.

"Creepy as hell, if you ask me.  Just leave him alone. They'll end up banging on their own, once he snaps out of... whatever _this_ is.  Come on, let's take lunch, I'm starving."

As soon as Bucky had let go of Steve, the blond crawled to the opposite side of the cage and pressed his back against the glass, watching with wide eyes as Bucky rebelled against his handler. He was shaking. Hell, he was practically hyperventilating. That had felt surreal, what had just happened...but Bucky had _remembered_. He had remembered his mother's name.

He watched the tight line of Bucky's soldiers as the scientists left. The man was stood with his back rigid and Steve could see the dim reflection of his face in the glass; he wore no expression. It was sinister the way Bucky shut off, became robotic. But he'd just disobeyed a direct order from his handler. And that gave Steve hope.

His Russian wasn't perfect but he knew what Karpov had said and Bucky was distinctly not doing it.

Steve hadn't bothered to correct the scientists that they would "bang on their own."  Steve had no intention of having sex with anyone, currently, and it was laughable to think he'd want that in his current condition. He needed to delay the inducer for as long as possible. His gaze slowly crawled back to the blood on the wall: _I do not consent_. He let out a long breath. It felt good to remind himself.  He was not _just_ an omega, and he was not a slave to his biology.  He was a human being.

He wanted to speak out to Bucky but he didn't, scared he might snap Bucky into actually following a command. So Steve just waited, pressed up against the glass on the opposite side of the cage as if that would somehow protect him.

About an hour must have passed. Bucky still hadn't moved. Steve was getting worried. The 'lunch break' would be over. How long would it take them to make an inducer that would work on him? Days? Weeks? ....hours? Steve shivered and peered over to see the same blank reflection of Bucky's face in the glass.

He didn't use his name. He didn't want to confuse him.

Steve just asked him softly: "Are...are you okay?"

"я готов выполнить," said the soldier, blinking.  He looked around, as if not sure where he was. "...полковник Карпов?" he called, tentatively, like a child searching a crowd for its mother.  "...сэр? ...сэр?" He pressed against the glass, searching for Karpov, clearly a little lost.

He turned to Steve and stared at him for a long time, as if trying to remember him.

Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned and for a moment Steve thought it was all coming back to him.  But instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter Pietro had given him, and lit one up.

At least it was a non-commanded action.

"Karpov isn't here," Steve said quietly, still watching Bucky tensely. Even when he moved to take a drag from his cigarette, Steve couldn't relax. He was ready to defend himself in seconds. Even though Bucky had resisted and wasn't currently conforming... the effect of that command had been alarming and it had reminded Steve of the complexity of the situation.

He didn't like the smell of cigarettes. He never had. Steve associated it with coughing fits and cold walks home through streets full of dingy-looking bars. Back in the forties omegas never smoked. It simply wasn't the done thing. And it probably would have killed Steve if he'd tried to pick it up.

He stayed where he was, as far away from Bucky as possible and said nothing more. Steve wasn't sure who was standing in front of him right now; Bucky, the Winter Solider, or someone else entirely?

* * *

On the jet, Phil had just finished circling a few areas of interest on a map of Yemen when Tony cringed noticeably.

"Tony?" said Natasha in alarm.

"...he's scared.  Really scared. Like, petrified.  Oh God. Oh, God, they're... they must be torturing him or something..."

"Hey.  Hey, it's okay, we're coming for him," said Clint, putting an arm around him.  (A pointless gesture, since Tony couldn't feel it in the suit; aside from the helmet he was in full combat gear.)  "Steve's tough. He's gonna be okay."

Tony shook his head, not trusting himself to talk.  Sam's words, about how it was his fault, kept going through his head, and he was desperate to get to Steve in time.  If they were too late, if something happened to Steve because of him, he'd never forgive himself.

He found himself wishing there were a bar on board.

They were over the Atlantic and if there was one thing Tony needed at that moment, it was a drink.

"If he's scared it probably means they haven't hurt him yet. Fear comes before pain. And if he was in pain, you would feel it," Natasha tried to reassure him. Sam was flying the jet; they thought giving him something to focus on would help calm him down after the fight with Tony.

"Hey," Phil stepped out of the cockpit, a light in his eyes. "I think we've found something."

He showed Tony a blurry picture of a base in a desert; it looked small so most of it had to be underground. "Look familiar?"

Tony squinted at the photo.  "...I..." He wasn't certain.  "...I don't know. That might be it.  ...yeah. Maybe. I'm like... sixty-five percent sure?  ...I'm sorry, it's just... Steve..."

"Hey.  Tony. He'll be okay," said Natasha with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Steve's a soldier," added Sam.  " He knows how to handle himself."  Despite his and Tony's earlier disagreement, seeing Tony look so worried was hard to ignore.  Tony kept rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  Clad in armor, he could not actually touch the skin, which was hidden away beneath the shiny red exterior of his Iron Ma suit.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I... I think that's it," he said, a little more confidently.  There was still a sense of anxiety, but now, it was less about finding Steve, and more about what the hell he'd say to him when they saw each other again for the first time in nearly two months.

He reached up the rub the collar of the suit with his gauntlet.  Beneath the armor, the scar on the back of his neck tingled, and he looked away, anxiety coursing through him.

* * *

The soldier rubbed the back of his neck and then looked over at the blond.  The omega looked and smelled anxious. Despite that, he was exceedingly attractive and the soldier felt drawn to him.

Wordlessly, he held out the pack of cigarettes to offer the omega one.

"No thank you," Steve whispered, shaking his head slowly when he was offered the cigarettes. His knees were drawn up against his chest tightly, his hands resting atop of them. He was curled in on himself and his stance was evidently defensive. Steve was ready if Bucky struck out again.

The way Bucky was moving was almost unnatural and sinister. Steve watching a wispy puff of smoke leave his lips. He could almost see Bucky hanging out of their apartment window, half blushing when he caught Steve drawing him, sticking his tongue out teasingly.

Bucky stared curiously at the omega.  He felt like he might have spoken to this man before.  He seemed vaguely familiar.

He tilted his head a little bit, watching the blond with big, curious eyes, watching him as he smoked.  Though he didn't know his name or anything about him, though he smelled scared, the smell still called to him, a siren's song.

He'd heard of this, of people who bonded because the moment they met, the smell triggered some deep, primal instinct, made them fall instantly in love.  Betas talked about "love at first sight," but for Alphas and omegas, it was love at first smell, and unlike sight, it was more often right than not. Compatibility was felt at a deep and primal level.  Not everyone (indeed, only a lucky few) experienced it.

The soldier felt like he might be experiencing it now and it unsettled him.  He was a soldier; he couldn't be bonded; he wasn't allowed; there was no place in his life for an omega; it was forbidden.  Yet the more he breathed and watched the blond, the more and more he felt a connection, one he'd only ever known with Karpov.

Did the blond feel it too?  If so, then...

First steps first.  He ought to introduce himself.

"...my name is..." he began, then stopped short.

Oh.

Well, how about that.  He couldn't recall it.

He took a thoughtful drag on the cigarette, trying to calculate his next move.  Was it on his dog tags?

He reached for his neck but they were gone.

Shit.  Yet another hiccup in his life.  He'd have to talk to... well, shoot, who did you go to for something like that?  Colonel Phillips, maybe?

He tried to smile at the omega.  The stretching of his face felt extremely unnatural so he stopped.

Something sank in Steve's chest when Bucky couldn't remember his name. But then Steve saw him reaching around his neck and it clicked.

"Your dog tags are with a woman named Peggy Carter. I left everything important with  her," Steve said gently. Everything important being the dogtags, sketchbooks and a few odd items of clothing. His Captain America gear he'd left at Sam's house. Just in case anything had happened him, it was a silent offer for the other to take up the name. Steve couldn't think of anyone else better suited to it. He wondered if Sam had mentioned that to the others. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. I call you Bucky."

"...Bucky," repeated the soldier thoughtfully.

The closer Bucky got the more Steve curled on himself.

He was shivering, he realized. Steve swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. His skin felt warm. He frowned and looked up at the cell ceiling. There was small little vents and the air rippled as something left them and flooded into the cage. "Oh no," Steve whispered and looked away from the vents and back to Bucky. "Soldier." He tried to sound commanding. "Stay where you are."

He was surprised at the sudden command but automatically said, "Yes, Captain Rogers," and froze.

A door slammed; the asset turned with excitement.  Karpov was striding over, but he was no longer in his uniform.  He was wearing a coat and had a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Colonel," said the soldier with delight, pressing against the glass.

Karpov gave him a sad smile.  "Soldier."

"Where are we going?"

Karpov sighed a little.  "It's time for me to go, soldier.  I'm retiring. Better for me to disappear than to have HYDRA make me disappear.  Geniuses are rarely appreciated in their own time. The world wasn't ready for Guiding Star.  They'd rather fight their wars with muscles, not brains. There is no place for me here now. Perhaps someday HYDRA will be better equipped to make use of my research.  I still believe in its principles. But the fools running it right now... they would dispose of me like yesterday's newspaper. So, soldier, it is time for us to say good-bye and perhaps, someday, we will meet again.  It was an honor to work with you. You have been an excellent asset."

Bucky stared at him in horror.

Karpov eyed Steve with interest; he was visibly shaking and looking flushed.

Karpov wasn't surprised they were resorting to this method.  All of them underestimated the asset. They always had. He felt a bitter sort of triumph knowing that they would eventually realize just how useful he'd been, how underappreciated.  But he doubted it would be anytime soon. It would only be once they had some use for him that wasn't breeding that they would come to their senses and see what an incredible loss they'd incurred.  And then they'd be sorry. They had underestimated Karpov, underestimated his program and his asset. Well, now they wouldn't have him anymore, and they would be left with the unpredictable, destabilized soldier to contend with.  Serve them right.

Karpov strode over and gestured for the soldier; he came over and knelt by the slot in the door.  Karpov reached through and ran his hand over Bucky's cheek, tenderly, looking down at him. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

Then without another word, he turned and left.

Bucky pressed against the glass, watching his go, heart pounding in his chest.

For months Karpov had been talking about disappearing but it had always be a foregone conclusion to Bucky that he would be coming along.  He realized now that that was never the plan. He had a vague memory of a conversation in Cuba...

He turned and looked at the omega to ask for orders, figuring he must be in charge now, but his question died on his lips.  The omega was curled up against the wall, shivering, eyes bright, blond hair tantalizingly damp, skin glistening with sweat.  He looked ill but the effect was inexplicably delicious. The soldier's mouth was literally watering just looking at him.

"...he left," he said, unnecessarily.

Steve couldn't speak. He was barely even aware of the exchange with Karpov. He couldn't function. He couldn't think. All he could try and do was fight off the heat that threatened to burn through him. He was shaking and sweating and he knew he didn't have long to try and talk Bucky out of this.

He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again.

Steve's ability to logically think was soon going out the window. All he could see in front of him was a strong and capable alpha who could give him exactly what he needed.

"Fuck," he whispered.

Steve's gaze didn't move from him. It remained fixed and still, as if he was scared Bucky might move if he pulled away from him.

"Bucky... Bucky, you need to stay over there," Steve managed to there. "You need to stay here and I need to stay here, okay?"

Bucky stared at him.

This was familiar.  This smell.

"...Stevie," he said.

Yes.  He knew this.  He remembered how Steve's body would struggle its way, rarely, irregularly, through pre-heats, never quite being strong enough to have one.  Those times were the hardest, the most tempting. Bucky had wanted so desperately to take his omega then; he would banish Steve to the couch and try not to listen as the omega whimpered softly in the other room.

"Stevie," he repeated with interest, taking a step toward him.

Steve didn't tense up. His body wanted this and whilst he knew this _wrong_ some dark screwed-up part of his mind wanted it too. He couldn't tell Bucky to step back. His lips parted but his words wouldn't leave him. He ran a shaky hand over his face and shivered, cringing as a tremble shuddered up his spine. "Fuck," he whispered again.  "Bucky. I don't know-" he couldn't finish his sentence, his words stuck in his throat.  "You don't know what you're doing," he finally managed to get out. "Buck. Stop and think.  Urgh."  Steve grunted and curled in on himself as a spasm when through his middle.

 _Stop and think_.

Bucky stopped.  Bucky thought.

"Steve.  Gimme another chance.  A second chance. I... I didn't like feeling... rejection.  I'm sorry I made you feel that. But now I can be a better Alpha.  And you're not sick anymore! Everything's okay now."

Bucky was feeling fairly confused, but generally optimistic.  Yes, Karpov was gone. He wasn't really sure where the hell he was, or why.  He'd lost his dog tags. He was having trouble making sense of how they'd gotten here or what they were supposed to be doing.

But Steve was here.  Him and Steve were together again.  Really, that was all that mattered.

He sidled up to Steve as Steve groaned, curling up, and wrapped an arm around him, nosing into his neck lovingly, his whole body tensing.  He felt the back of his neck tingle and a swelling between his legs. "...I love you..." he murmured softly. "...I got you, Stevie..."

"It's not okay," Steve managed to say. "We're in a cage, having a heat induced chemically, against our will! How is any of this okay?" he demanded but there was no real bite to his words. He almost wheezed, doubling over on himself as he let out a groan.  He leaned into Bucky's touch on instinct and trembled as he nosed against his neck. He had to bite back a moan. "I never doubted that you loved me, Buck", he whispered, and he truly meant that. The problem was how he showed it.

But that was ancient history, now.

Steve sighed softly. "You've... you've got me?"

"Yeah.  I've got you," said Bucky, reached up to gently stroke the back of Steve's neck.

He had a very vague idea that they had been bonded and then gone to war and the bond had gone away and Steve had been absolutely furious with him, but...

"Steve, when the war's over, when we go back home, I swear, I'm gonna treat you different.  I swear. I didn't want to hurt you, Steve, you understand that, right? I was a jerk. I know I was a jerk.  I tried my best. But I'm gonna do better now."

He was still stroking Steve's neck, nosing against him, his tongue dragging over the skin to taste him.  Steve's body was like a drug; it was like music; it was the only thing Bucky had ever wanted and at that moment he would have given anything to have it.

"Let me fix it," he murmured against Steve's skin, brushing the scar on the back of Steve's neck with his fingers.  "Let's do it over, right this time..."

* * *

Tony was pacing impatiently through the jet when they arrived in the dusty little town of Thamud.  They set the jet down on the outskirts of the town, the engines kicking up clouds of dust. They opened the back of the jet and descended; if Phil was right, they were less than six kilometers from the base.

He squinted against the sun; Yemen was a desert and it resembled Kunar far, far too closely for his taste.

"Tony?  You okay?" asked Sam, walking up behind him.

"Yeah, I just feel... weird."

"Scared?"

"No.  No, that's the thing.  I feel really good. Like... like excited."  Tony looked over. "...maybe I just... miss him, I guess.  Maybe I'm... glad to get him back. I dunno. ...I haven't had sex in two months so that sort of sucks."

"You kidding me?" demanded Natasha.  "Steve's being held captive in a HYDRA base and you're thinking about _sex_?"

Tony spread his arms.  "I can't help it! Sometimes thoughts just pop into my head, okay?  I'm a _guy_ , sometimes that happens!"

"I can honestly say I don't regularly think about having sex with hostages right before rescuing them, but maybe I'm the weird one," said Clint scathingly.

"Oh, shut up, let's rock n' roll," snapped Tony, clicking his faceplate on.

"I'll procure a car," said Natasha, striding toward the nearby village.

"I don't think they have Hertz here," said Tony.

"...I don't think that's what she meant," replied Sam, watching her race off.

* * *

 Steve shivered and couldn't fight back anoise when he felt he wet drag of Bucky's tongue against his neck. "But...but this is what they want," he whispered. "If we do this, if we don't fight... then we can never go home."

He turned to face Bucky, to look into his eyes.

"I would love to fix it. I would. I just--" he gasped softly as a spasm racked through out him and he gripped Bucky's good shoulder tightly. "Fuck. It's so hard to...to think coherently right now.  But we can't let them win.  We can't let HYDRA win... we're better than they are.  Buck. You gotta put some distance between us or I'm gonna do something stupid."

Steve pushed against his chest half-heartedly. "Buck. Come on."

Bucky stared into those bright blue eyes, only half-understanding.

His body shuddered with Steve's.

"Let me fix it, _then_ we'll fight," he said, desperately wanting to appeal to the omega.  "Let me take care of you, and _then_ we can go home." He caught Steve's hand on his chest and guided it down, gently, between his legs, letting Steve feel his stiff cock through the fabric of his clothes.  He leaned forward to nip playfully at Steve.

Steve's sad little half-heats had been difficult to resist; this heat, this full-blown smell of heat and lust and desire, was maddening.  Bucky supposed this was partial payback, Steve teasing him like this, because of all the times Bucky had denied him. He felt awful about it.  But now... now they could fix it. He was feeling extremely confident of that.

"Fuck," whispered Steve when he felt Bucky's arousal beneath his hand. It was something forbidden, something he'd always longed for... and definitely bigger than he'd ever taken, considering both Tony and instruments before.

"Stevie.  Lemme see your neck," Bucky murmured gently, reaching over to tilt Steve's head.  The unfamiliar mark there still revolted him but it was fine. Steve was his; he'd fix it, as promised, and the war was nearly over and then they could go home to Brooklyn, and all would be well.

Steve leaned into Bucky's touch and moved to where he wanted him on instinct. He was so afraid of the consequences but he was also aware that Bucky was his Alpha and it would feel like blasphemy to deny him. He trembled when he felt his hot breath against his neck.

"They're videoing this. I don't want them to video this. And I don't want to be in a cage," Steve managed to get out, shaking his head subtly. But he still didn't lean away from his touch. He literally couldn't.  "Fuck HYDRA.  We-- we will _not_ cooperate with them.  _Ever_."

"Shh," said Bucky softly, gently, nosing the omega's hair.  "Shh... it's okay, Stevie, I promise... I'll take you somewhere else, then, where ever you want... we won't cooperate with them.  I promise."

Was Steve a nester?  Was that it? Bucky couldn't recall.  He would have promised just about anything to get Steve to mate with him.  Obviously Steve wasn't entirely ready yet, though. Not mentally, at least.  Physically, Bucky could smell his desperation, smell it on his skin and smell the delicious juiciness between his legs.

"Just tell me what you want... anything you want, Stevie."

But first things first.  Bucky tilted Steve's head a little more and Steve complied, moving gracefully under his hands, and he leaned forward to bite down on the back of his neck.  The scar there wasn't right, didn't fit his mouth at all. He bit down harder, needing it reshaped, needing it to fit. Needing to fix it.

Biting Steve's flesh was pure bliss and he was unable to keep from grinding himself against Steve a little.  He pulled away reluctantly, double-checking his work (much better!) and then cupped Steve's cheek in his right hand, stroking the skin with his thumb.

Steve cried out at the bite mark. It felt good but it burned, God it burned. He was shaking. Steve's neck throbbed with a pain he'd never felt before. "Bucky. _Buck_ \--" He gripped his arm tightly and gasped, eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck. Oh my God. Oh my God. What have you done?"

"I fixed it," he reassured him, wrapping his arms around the trembling omega.

Steve couldn't feel him. Steve hadn't realized Tony had even still been there until he was gone. Over the past two months he'd been distant, yes, but he'd still been there. Steve gripped Bucky tightly, gasping.  It wasn't that he was alone.  He was still bonded.  But there was no Tony.  Left in Tony's place was something else.  Another presence. 

Bucky. 

For the first time since 1943, he could feel Bucky.

Bucky ran his tongue over the new mark; it looked much better.

A shudder ran through Steve and suddenly he could feel him again, _Tony_ , and it felt like coming up for air. He gasped sharply.  His senses were reeling.  He felt like he'd just stepped off of the Cyclone on Coney Island.

Maybe it was the heat but his bond felt all wrong, like an optical illusion where the brain is struggling to see two images.  He was disoriented and dizzy; the lack of food had no doubt caused his blood sugar to crash; if he had had anything to throw up, he certainly would have.

"Steve?" whispered Bucky.

"Oh my God."

"Steve?  Anything you want.  I promise.  I'm your Alpha.  I'll take care of you.  Just tell me what you need."

"I need to get out of here," Steve said quietly, looking up into Bucky's eyes.  Fierce, fiery blue met glassy, muted grey.  "And then, I want to save you."


	34. Escape

Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Tony crouched in a dark storage area, crowded behind a couple of barrels marked with biohazard stickers.  Natasha had taken the lead; she'd obtained a truck (undoubtedly stolen; Tony noted with admiration that she'd hot-wired it); she'd gotten them into the facility, dropping two guards silently, one with a shank to the kidney and another with a ruthlessly efficient twist to the neck.  They were now in possession of a key card, though it wasn't clear what level of access a look-out would have. Probably not to any of the lower levels, which is where they all guessed someone like Steve would be held.

"Okay," whispered Natasha, "we need to go lower and get someone with higher access.  We need to be quick because there's cameras everywhere and it's only a matter of time before they realize the base is compromised.  Stark, you disable their communications, but only after they're raised the alarm. If we do it before then, they'll catch on to--"

Tony ripped his face plate off suddenly and vomited on the floor.

"-- _Jesus Christ_ ," hissed Sam.

"Oh God... oh, _God_ ," moaned Tony.

" _Shh_!  Tony!"

"...oh, God..."

"Stark?"

Sam and Natasha grabbed him at the same time; Tony's eyes were wide and glassy.

"...he's dead."

" _What_?"

"He's dead.  They-- they killed him.  It's gone. Just gone, completely gone, I can't f-feel..."  Tony had a stricken expression and had gone an ashy color; in the suit, he was starting to shake violently.  He hadn't realized or appreciated the constant sense of his mate over the last eight months, but suddenly it was no more, clicked off in an instant, like a light switch.  It was as if he'd suddenly gone completely blind.

He leaned over to retch again, the sudden loneliness of it, the disorientation of no longer feeling Steve...

"Shit," said Clint.

Natasha didn't bother asking Tony to get a grip; he was clearly incapacitated.  He was on his hands and knees, head hung, spitting quietly on the concrete floor.  He was in the midst of a relatively quiet but nonetheless devastating flashback.

_The smell of cigarette smoke.  Of seared meat. Of burned hair.  And the pain._

Tony moaned loudly.  He swore he could feel it, he could--

Wait a second.  He _could_ feel it.

"Wait!" he croaked.  "He's alive! I can't feel his... his emotions, but... but I think-- they're _torturing_ him--"

"Okay.  Come on," said Natasha grimly, striding across the room.  "We might not have much time."

* * *

Steve looked up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes and asked to leave, and Bucky's heart fell.  He had no clue how to accommodate that request. He looked around the room desperately. There had to be a solution.  He wanted to give his omega everything. He had to.

He would think of this like a mission.  As Steve had said, an Alpha listened to his omega, that's what bonding was all about.

He stared at the door, thinking.

Maybe Karpov could help them.

"I'll ask Colonel Karpov if he'll let us out," he said.  He rarely asked for anything and when he did it was always a necessity.  This, he felt, qualified as a necessity, though. His omega wanted this and it was clear there would be no mating until Steve got his way (he'd always been stubborn).  "...he makes sure I get what I need," he added with conviction.

He paced the floor in frustration.  How long would he have to wait? His erection was almost unbearable.

He looked over at Steve pleadingly.

Steve stared back.  His neck was searing.  Bucky had "fixed" it, all right. 

 _It wasn't broken_ , Steve wanted to say. But then, maybe it has been... everything was so screwed up and messy...

How had he gotten here again?

Bucky resumed pacing while Steve stared dully at the wall.

There had to be a better solution.

He was having trouble coming up with a plan.  Rarely did the asset have to do this much independent thinking; his missions were usually fairly straightforward and all he had to do was carry them out.  The smell of Steve's arousal was driving him fucking crazy.  He tried to think of this as a mission, as an objective. How would he escape if he were by himself?  Create an emergency, perhaps. He was sure they'd come rushing in and open the door if he, say, punched Steve in the face.  But he couldn't do that. They were bonded and they should never hurt each other, as Steve had explained.

He pulled out the pack of cigarettes again and put one between his lips, cupping the flame from the lighter to light up--

Wait a second.

Bucky ripped off his shirt and held the flame up to it.

"Give me your clothes," he demanded.  He gave Steve a small smile, something he was still re-learning.  But he had to admit, he felt rather clever for coming up with a plan that would get them out of the cell had the bonus feature of getting Steve naked.

Steve was a little disturbed at the request but soon realized Bucky's intention as he held his lighter up to the material of his shirt. He blinked and almost smiled. Bucky might just be onto something. They might just get out of here.

He pulled off his shirt and felt a small bead of blood run down the back of his neck. He shivered and dropped his jacket before moving to take off his trousers too. Steve left his underwear on. There wouldn't have been much to burn anyway.

But soon they were naked enough and their clothes were being set alight. And the cage was slowly filling with smoke, masking the heat pheromones. Steve could think. He could feel. Sure, there was a fire in his cell, and he was practically naked, but least he could could function like a semi-normal human being.

"Now what?" Steve asked, still sweaty and feverish still.

Two guards burst into the room.

He smiled.

* * *

There were two men watching the cameras with interest, two of the senior scientists behind them.

"...oh, see, it's gettin' good," said one, grinning, watching as Bucky bit Steve.  "There they go."

The scientists shared a small fist bump.

"Immune to inducers..." scoffed one.  "I could make a couple of rocks fuck if you gave me  enough funding."

"Braggart," said the guard, watching the screen.  "...the hell's he doing now? He bit him and now he's just walking around with a hard-on.  How bad did Karpov screw up his brain?"

"He'll get it eventually," said the scientist behind him, confidently.  "...there! See?" The two were taking their clothes off. "Like I said, I could make two rocks--"

"--he's setting a fire."

" _What?_ "

"He's setting a fucking fire."  The screen was quickly becoming obscured with smoke.  One of the guards was grabbing a phone on the wall to call the director.

* * *

"...setting fires?" repeated the director.  "Jesus Christ! Where the hell's Karpov?" He slammed the phone down and dialed.  The phone rang... and rang... and rang...

...it cut to voicemail.

"Don't try to find me."  It beeped.

The director's phone rang.  He picked it up; another guard was reporting two dead upstairs.

They must have tried to stop Karpov from leaving.  He'd been trained by the KGB; the poor fools had probably never stood a chance.

He placed a call to Dr. Ludheim.  "Do we know the soldier's activation words? ...what do you mean, they're in a _book_ , why weren't those records digitized?  ...how the hell can all the servers be dedicated to one fucking algorithm?  Who's in charge of IT? I've got a super soldier who's setting fires instead of studding whelps and-- hold on, I've got another call on line three--"

 _When it rains,_ he thought in annoyance, _it pours._

* * *

The moment the guards burst into the cell, Bucky was ready.  He scooped Steve up in a single motion, not trusting his ankle to hold up, and charged through the door.  He'd expected more resistance but they seemed shocked and Bucky wondered how the hell they were being entrusted to guard prisoners if they didn't know the "create an emergency" trick.

In fairness, they were probably somewhat disconcerted by both Bucky and Steve being in their underpants.

Bucky tore down the hall, cradling Steve in his arms; one of the guards was pulling out a gun, but the other one elbowed him, hard.

"Are you crazy?  If you kill the captain, they'll murder us!"

"...c'mon, they're super soldiers, one bullet's not gonna hurt him."

"They're not Luke Cage, you moron, if you hit them in the head, they'll die just like any other person!"

"Wait, who's Luke Cage?"

" _Goddamn it,_ Greene!"

Bucky was already in the stairwell.  Steve was fucking heavy; he ducked into level A-2 and slipped into one of the unused conferences rooms, knowing there were no cameras in there.  He knew the layout of every base; it was his job, after all.

He was panting a little with the effort.  Carrying Steve was a hell of a lot harder than it had been when Steve was ninety pounds.  He set the omega on the gleaming wooden table in the middle of the room. The lights were off and the room had a strangely empty air about it.

"Is this good enough?  Now can we mate?" he asked desperately, eagerly.  "I got you out of there and there's no cameras in this room.  Is this good enough? Have I completed my objective now?"

"Bucky, no... this isn't-- this isn't--" Steve fell back against the table, his head spinning. The smoke had helped sharpen his senses; now he was just left with the dizziness of a heat spinning through his head. His vision swam. He felt sick. He groaned and leaned his cheek against the cool wood of the table, his eyes half open.

Having no food for (how long?  Two days?  Three?  ...more?) a while had left him utterly disoriented.  His blood sugar had long-since crashed, his body's metabolism blazing through what little stores it had, and the excitement of getting out of the cell had put into focus just how weak he felt.

His fingers came into focus before his eyes and if Bucky was saying anything else he was becoming increasingly unaware of it. He watched the way his fingers moved against the wood in fascination. His skin looked so pale under the dim light in the room, the source of it being the window in the door through which the corridor lights bled through. Steve frowned. When had his hands gotten so big?

The back of his neck was beginning to itch as the blood dried. It felt uncomfortable and confusing. His bite mark before had been singular, a calling-- now it was mixed up with messages. He couldn't tell what was him, Bucky or... Tony.

It was like being drunk, Steve realized. Not a sensation he'd felt much since getting the serum.  Being bitten on the back of the neck had been the final straw for him; he was so chock-full of hormones that he felt like the whole world was coming in through a dreamlike haze, and it was difficult to parse out what was happening.  He tried to push himself to sit up but he couldn't quite make it. He frowned. "Buck. I can't-- I don't know-- how did we end up here?"

At least he could lean on his Alpha.  Bucky.

"...I carried you," said Bucky, brow furrowing.  "You said you didn't want to mate in a cell, with cameras.  So we left the cell and now we're here. No video. Have I completed my objective?" he repeated, desperately wanting validation.

Outside the conference room, faintly, an alarm began to sound.  Bucky cocked his head, listening. A breach?

His dander rose immediately and he growled softly under his breath, ready to fight to protect his omega from any potential threat.

The door opened and Bucky moved to cover Steve, but relaxed at the smell of an omega.

"...Pietro?  How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't," said Pietro.  "I've been looking all over for you since I heard about the fire.  I'm just very fast. What did you do that for?"

"Steve asked me to."

"If Steve asked you to jump off a bridge, would you?"

"Yes," said Bucky, without hesitation.

Pietro snorted a little.  He wasn't bonded and hoped he never would be.  "Listen. There's an infiltration. They're on level 2.  Wanda and I... we're going to take care of it." He looked at Steve, almost sadly.  "From one rabbit to another, I'm sorry, Steve Rogers. But I made a promise to my sister and to my dead parents and to my country that I would do anything necessary to hold accountable the man that has made them suffer.  Now I have my chance, and you... you're no longer needed. So take your own advice and run, before they can use you. HYDRA doesn't think of us as people. Right now, stairwell 4 is empty, so you can take that to get out if you hurry.  ...James, it was a pleasure to get to know you. You've been a good friend, even if your memory is terrible."

"Pietro, what are you talking about?" asked Bucky, who wasn't paying attention because of the omega in heat in front of him.

"неважно, James," said Pietro with a roll of his eyes.  He should've known the Alpha was incapable of focusing for that long.  Even without the distraction of Steve, Bucky was fairly spacey.

Pietro patted his arm and then, in a flash, he was gone.

"An... infiltration?" Steve echoed, rubbing at his face as he tried to understand. _Fucking heat_. "Whaaat?" Had Pietro said something about Tony? Were they going to try and kill him? So he was... here? "Bucky. We have to. You have to--" He gripped the wrist of his metal arm sharply and tugged him forward. "--you have to get me the hell out of here.  Bucky, we can't mate right now. Fighting HYDRA is more important."

Bucky frowned at him.

He might have whined but his self-control was too high for that. He got the sense he hadn't completed his objective, hadn't pleased Steve even though he'd followed his orders.  It sounded like the old mission (get out of the cell and away from videotaping) was being replaced with something entirely different (fight HYDRA).

"Damn." Steve leaned his head against Bucky's metal shoulder, the cool surface helping to sooth his burning hot forehead. He vaguely remembered screaming in the cell, fighting against Bucky when he'd tried to mount him. He remembered that feeling of _fear_...

"Objectives... this isn't about objectives. This is... this is about choosing a side."

A rush of footsteps stormed past their door. Steve lifted his head up and moved his hands to cup Bucky's cheeks. "SHIELD is here and you have to decide what you're going to do." It had to be his team. No one else would have found this godforsaken base in the middle of nowhere.

The heat was ebbing inside of him. Steve had stopped breathing in the pheromones a while back now. "Now I'm going to go find some clothes and kill everyone single HYDRA operative in this building that I possibly can," he whispered against his cheek, voice too calm. "This is all I wanted. That's why I called Sitwell, I just..." Steve laughed weakly and let his head fall into his hands. He shook his head, still laughing breathlessly. His shoulders shook.  "I just wanted to kill someone. That's all I wanted.  ...I'm just as bad as they are.  ...God, what was I thinking?"

Bucky had a lot of complex thoughts and he was having difficulty sifting them into anything resembling a coherent thought.  He knew that he didn't want to go on a killing rampage and he also knew he didn't want Steve to be in an unsafe place.

"Killing him won't change what he did," Bucky echoed suddenly, making eye contact with Steve.  "Killing Johann Schmidt just made you more like him. You enjoyed doing it but it wasn't a good feeling."

One thing Karpov had never discouraged was parroting.  Bucky often resorted to it when he needed to get abstract ideas across and found himself incapable of doing so, which was often.  Bucky tried to remember where Karpov was but couldn't and so instead he just focused on his mission. According to Steve, that was "choosing a side."  Bucky didn't understand the concept of choice. At least not in the way Steve was talking about.

Steve blinked and looked up at Bucky with wide eyes. He'd said that, before but not to Bucky.  To Tony.  What the hell? He stilled. His mind was racing. He couldn't think straight. He shook his head.

"I don't know if I care about feeling good anymore," Steve said, voice low and far too gentle. He looked distant, his gaze drifting over to closed blinds that safeguarded the room they were in from the hallway.

"Pietro says stairwell four is clear.  Let's go. You can't fight with a bad ankle," he said.  He put a hand over Steve's on his cheek, wishing Steve could be more consistent.  Karpov was wonderfully consistent. Karpov wouldn't have said they'd mate after the objective was complete and then turn around and change the objective entirely.  Bucky was feeling a surprising amount of irritation about being denied mating rights when he'd followed Steve's orders after bonding.

Despite the heat fogging Steve's brain he was still very aware that running away with the Winter Solider wasn't a good idea. He was right about what he said before; Bucky wasn't capable of consenting right now. And neither was he, really. Steve shouldn't have really kissed him but that had arguably been a tactical move.

He moved to stand and wobbled briefly before resting on both feet, more weight on his right side. The heat helped dull the pain, at least.

"I want to go to the archives. I want everything they have here.  Including those videos of us. I don't want SHIELD to see them," Steve said quietly. If they took Bucky in but Tony found out they'd kissed... then Bucky really would be dead.

Or maybe Bucky would run if he told him to... but then he wouldn't get the help he needed, would he?

Steve took Bucky's hand and they stepped out into the hallway. "Will you show me to the director's office?" he asked, clearly having zero interest in trying to run. "I'm sorry Buck. But we have to do this, to keep you safe,"

Bucky stated passively as Steve changed the orders _yet again_.  First he was supposed to get Steve out, then he was supposed to fight HYDRA, now they were supposed  to go destroy the archives? Christ on a cracker.

But Bucky didn't argue.  He let Steve take his hand and guide him because they were bonded now and it just wasn't in his nature to resist.

Then there was a screech and the comms turned on, a voice filtering through; it was the director's. Steve recognised the words and moved to cover Bucky's ears but it was too late.

"Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный..."

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks and his head tilted when the speakers came on.  His eyes were turning glassy.

"...Возвращение на Родину. Один..."

* * *

"Systems admin control gained," reported JARVIS.

"Beautiful.  Mute all comms," said Tony.

Natasha, Clint, and Sam had already stormed in.  Tony had finished retching and was currently still in the storage area, in his suit.  Maybe he wasn't in a place where he was capable of fighting, but that didn't meant he was useless.  Natasha had told him to wipe out their communications after the alarm sounded. It had taken Tony longer than he'd liked to hack in, but now he was scrolling through the source code from within his helmet.  The idiots had everything up on connected servers. They might as well have been uploading shit to a Google dropbox.

"Let's cause some chaos, Jarv.  Start copying anything that looks important, then wipe out all e-mails, delete all records... let's see... put a perma-ban on any new uploads... redirect any outgoing electronic data to be pinged back to SHIELD HQ... throw Dora the Explorer up on any screens..."

* * *

"Товарный ваг--"

The speaker died suddenly, the last syllable ending in a crackle of static.

Bucky was frozen, confused by the alteration to the familiar words.  "готовы соблюдать...?"

Behind them, in the conference room, a sudden cheery voice was suddenly shouting.

" _Acuerdate_ , Dora, these are library books! You need your library card to use them!"

"I have my library card!"

" _Bueno!_ Now, to go into a story, you have to say the magic words: _Entra al cuento_!"

"Can _you_ say _entra al cuento_?"

" _Entra al cuento?"_ repeated Bucky, looking completely and utterly lost.  Arguably, it was a sign of progress that he had an expression of confusion instead of his usual thousand-yard stare.

"Tony," Steve whispered as soon as he heard the children's TV show echo down the hall way. "He's here!"

His vision began to fuzz at the edges again and he hit the side of his head to try and wake himself up. How long had it been since he'd eaten? How much sleep had he even gotten over these past few... days? Was it days?  It had only been a few days, right?  "Bucky. Come on..."

He grabbed for his hand, using his weight to help himself walk.

There was three guards at the end of the corridor.

"Captain America." One pointed their gun at him, looking between him and a naked Winter Soldier warily. "We're going to escort you back to your ce-" He grunted as Steve's elbow  made contact with his face. The other two made to intercept. Steve twisted around and grabbed the first man's gun, slamming it against his forehead to knock him out good before he fired a shot into the other's chest and--

"Stand _down_!" The other shoved a gun against his temple. Steve dropped his gun and then dropped to his knees. "That's it. Good b-" he began.  He never finished; he let out a whimper as Steve reached out and gripped his crotch _hard_ , crushingly so. The man whined in pain and Steve dragged him down to the floor to punch him in the face. Once. Twice. Three times.

No more men with guns.

He looked up at Bucky breathlessly, with a smile on his face.

Steve gestured around him. "Clothes?"

The omega had instructed him to follow, so he did.

They had gotten to the end of the hall and bumped into three men; Steve had smashed two in the face and shot one.  The gunshot in the hallway left the soldier's ears ringing.

When the omega turned to him, smiling, and said, " _clothes_ ," the soldier nodded.  

Yes. Those were clothes.

The omega was pulling the uniform off the largest of the guards and he realized that omega meant for them to get dressed.

He grabbed the guard that hadn't been shot, since he felt the blood stain would be too conspicuous, and dressed with military efficiency, his shirt buttoned and his shoes laced (one size too small; unfortunate) before the omega was done.

He tore the left arm off the shirt; his left arm never seemed to quite fit into regular sleeves correctly.

He stooped down and grabbed one of the guard's guns, checking the magazine before tucking it into his waistband and looting the other two.  He waited for orders.

* * *

Natasha threw her legs around one of the guards and brought him down the heel of her hands onto the back of his head; he dropped, and she kicked off him, running down the hall toward the cells.

Clint followed.

The room was filled with smoke; there were no prisoners.  Only a pile of unidentifiable debris in one cell and words smeared on the wall in blood: I DO NOT CONSENT.

"That's Steve's handwriting," said Natasha.

"That's Steve's style," said Clint.  "Where is he?"

"Probably started the fire to escape.  Might already be out," said Sam.

Natasha held a hand up to her ear.  "Tony? Tony, come in."

"What's up, pussycat?"

"Tony, we're in one of the lower levels and we found where Steve _was_ but not Steve.  Can you--"

"How do you know?" interrupted Tony.

"...because his clothes are here," said Natasha, eyeing the pile of ashy cloth.  It was the writing on the wall that convinced her, not the pile of burned textiles, but she didn't want to tell Tony about the wall because she was pretty sure he'd have one of his freak-outs.

"His _clothes?_...so he's naked?" asked Tony in horror, remembering how Steve had been attacked by Schmidt in the simulation, thinking about all the horrible things they could be doing to his omega.

"Tony.  We need your help finding him.  Can you send out a message on the comms?"

"I can't just tell him to meet you guys in the breakroom.  It'll draw every fucking guard in the place."

"You're supposed a genius!  Think of something!"

"Okay, okay!"  Tony shut off the link with Natasha.  "JARVIS, give me base-wide speaker access, I need to make an announcement."  He paused.

"You're live, sir," JARVIS informed him.

Tony found he didn't know what to say.  If Steve was still there and still conscious, this would be the first time they'd spoken for two months.

"...Steve," he began.  His voice cracked. He cringed at himself, cleared it softly, then repeated, "Steve.  It's me. I'm here for you. And I'm... sorry. If you can hear this, get outside, now.  We're gonna rendezvous in--"

There was a flash and suddenly a blond was standing in front of him.  Tony blinked. "You!"

"Hello again, Stark."

Tony shut off the speaker comm.  He was hoping that Steve would be able to get out, but if he couldn't at least his announcement would draw most of the guards up there, which would allow Nat and Clint and Sam to do a sweep.  Tony was planning on going up and shooting every last guard as they came out. One of the last people he expected to see was _this_ guy again, the teenager with the silvery-blond hair.

* * *

"Outside. Okay." Steve breathed, a gun at his own side. Hearing Tony's voice had shaken him. He honestly hadn't been sure if he would have come on the rescue mission himself, but apparently he had. Steve didn't know how to feel about it. He was still terribly mad at him and it would take a hell of a lot more than this for Steve to forgive being ignored for two months.

But right now, he was not too proud to accept help.  He could yell at Tony later, once he had properly escaped.

"Are there any jets in here?" Steve asked. "One you could get into?  To get away?" He looked into Bucky's eyes, willing there to be an answer. "I need you to find a jet. And help Wanda and Pietro get out of here, too, okay? You've got to keep them safe, Buck; they don't have anyone else.  They're innocents.  They shouldn't be here.  And if they try and kill Stark, SHIELD will go after them... and SHIELD already wants you."

He swallowed. His heart sank in his chest. Was he really going to send Bucky away from him?  After thinking he was lost and then rediscovering him decades later?

Steve braced a hand against the Winter Soldier's chest and felt his heart beat. Yes. He had too Tony would kill him, or vise versa. And SHIELD was riddled with HYDRA; they had at least one mole with Level Seven clearance.  Jasper Sitwell. Bucky would never be safe.

"I love you," Steve whispered and then stepped back, head ducked down. Bucky followed. "Listen to me." He held up his hands. "You need to get out of here and you need to get Wanda and Pietro safe!"

Steve was shaking. Perhaps it was from the starvation but it was mostly from upset. "Buck!  Please... don't make this harder than it already is. I'm trying to save you."

The omega had placed his hand over the soldier's heart and murmured that he loved him, then stepped away. The soldier had followed and the omega got upset.

The soldier was confused.

Was he supposed to leave without the blond?  Was that it?

"Where do we meet?" he asked finally.  He felt his misunderstanding of orders was forgivable; if Steve meant for them to be separated then he should give the soldier a rendezvous point.  Furthermore, he wasn't sure how Steve expected to strike out on his own. He was limping, shaking with hunger and exhaustion... he was in no condition to do anything.

And he was sure that Wanda and Pietro, where ever they were, were just fine.

* * *

"Look, kid, I'm sorry, okay?  Seriously. I really am. But that was a lifetime ago.  And I can't change what already happened. People die, it's sad, you get over it."

"You're a monster," said Wanda, sounding genuinely shocked by Tony's callousness.

Tony was too busy trying to monitor the comms from within his helmet to be paying complete attention to the two kids in front of him.  He was hoping they didn't try anything stupid, like shooting him, because the fact of the matter was, bullets pinging off the suit always left his ears ringing and he really needed to focus on the comms right now.

The girl held up her hands.

Tony held up his, automatically, but then lowered them.  He wasn't going to shoot some defenseless girl; she was holding no weapon.

The comm crackled.

"Tony?  This is Natasha.  We just found Steve.  He's dead."

Tony froze.  "What?"

"He's dead.  We're aborting the mission.  Meet us by the van outside."

Tony's vision swam.  "W... what? No... no, I didn't feel..."  He took a step back, then dropped to his knees.  It was impossible. No one could kill Steve; he was a super-soldier and, besides, wouldn't Tony have sensed it?  Wouldn't he have known?

Pietro watched without sympathy as the suit of armor dropped to its knees; he looked over at Wanda, whose face was furrowed in concentration.  "He's still in the suit."

Wanda simply made a noise of acknowledgement, focused on the delicate thread of thought, wispy as the strand of a spider web, that connected her to Stark.  His mind was different. A nebula of thought, multiple intersections of individual ideas and observations, and she was finding it hard to manipulate.

But fear was something inherently simple and universal in all minds.  Even those the belonged to geniuses.  She'd brought him down; now, she only needed to keep him down long enough for her and her brother to have their revenge.

* * *

_Where do we meet?_

Steve's heat sank in his chest. "I don't know," he whispered. "I'll be able to find you, with this." he gestured to the back of his neck. "I promise I'll get you help Buck. I swear. I just can't do that within SHIELD. Not yet. Not now. Not when there's HYDRA scattered throughout it.  The important thing is... until I find you, you stay away from Karpov. He's not a good man Bucky. He's hurt you. _He's_ the reason you couldn't even remember me."

Bucky stared at Steve, confused.  Karpov wasn't a bad man. Karpov was a brilliant, kind, selfless, perfect handler.  He gave him cigarettes, and orders.

Steve suddenly keeled over; in an instant, Bucky was there, supporting him, holding him up.

Steve gripped the railing of the stairs as he nearly doubled over, a tremor of left over heat racking through him. He swore. "Fuck. Oh my God.  God _dammit_!  I hate this!  I hate being a zero!  Why is everything so messed up?  Why can't I just _fix_ this?"

Steve rubbed a hand over his face. He wouldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of Bucky.

"They want to kill Tony. Can't let them..." Steve trailed off, almost sounding drunk.

Bucky leaned in to nuzzle Steve's neck.  The heat had made him smell so invitingly, syrupy sweet; the scent glands on his neck, just behind his ears, were practically screaming at Bucky.  Steve's scent and the sudden spasming of his body was like a command that hadn't been ordered with words, but was nonetheless a clear command, a want, a need.

He lapped at Steve's neck.  "...now we mate?" he suggested, not sure who "them" was or why they wanted to kill Tony or who Tony was.

* * *

"Where are they?!" Natasha demanded for a fifth time, her punch making the director's head spin. He laughed but then wheezed where he lay against his desk, clutching at his side which was slowly bleeding out into the floor. Sam was at his computer, checking the cameras through the mainframe for any sign of their super soldier.

"I told you already. Probably off screwing somewhere. When the captain was in heat he looked about ready to beg for--" Natasha shut him up with a kick to his jaw.

"Useless," she tutted and placed her hands on her hips. "Find anything?"

"They went into stairwell 4." Sam said. "Took out three guards, took their clothes--"

"Small mercies," Natasha hummed.

"--they must still be in the stairwell. I can't see them exiting at any point. Chances of the Winter Soldier getting hostile with us?"

"I'd say about a hundred and ten percent," Natasha said; she pocketed her pistol and pulled out a stun gun. "But I'll play nice." Her eyes glinted as she clicked the safety off and turned the stun gun on. "...as long as he does."

* * *

_Tony wasn't sure who he was.  He was walking on the shoulder of a road, a very familiar road.  The gravel crunched beneath his feet. He could see movement through the shattered glass.  They weren't dead yet. Unfortunate._

_"--so unfortunate.  A terrible tragedy."_

_Tony sat stoically in his father's lawyer office, gripping the arms of his chair, teeth clenched.  Obadiah sat next to him; behind them, Jarvis and Ana were crying silently, Ana trying to comfort Jarvis even though she herself was barely coherent.  The lawyer hadn't wanted the omegas in the room but Tony had insisted._

_He'd insisted on giving the presentation in Iraq, on location... Obadiah had mentioned the idea and Tony had seized it immediately.  Obadiah had tried to talk him out of it, saying it was too dangerous, saying that he'd be much safer and it would be almost as good at home, but Tony had only gotten more and more stubborn, and the more Obadiah tried to talk him out of it, the more attached he became to the idea._

_The tag attached listed the contents of the box.  Obadiah's personal effects. His ashes were in the box, in an urn, and Tony had no clue what to do with it.  The guy had tried to kill him. But somehow, Tony had still been listed as his sole heir. Perhaps, before everything had gone downhill between them, they had still been family._

_"--family, and at such a young age."_

_He'd had to identify his parents.  They had pulled back the sheet once he'd said he was ready.  His father's face was a mess; his mother's, though, look as if she could have been sleeping._

_They hadn't told him there was a woman.  He hadn't expected it and he walked around the car to eliminate her, reaching out with a metal arm--_

"I can't... I can't make sense of this..." said Wanda.  "It's like... like he thinks too many things at once, there's too many connections, I can't--"

"Just get him to get out of the suit!"

"I'm trying!  It's hard... I'm really trying, Pietro, I can't--"

_"--I just can't, Tony!"_

_"Pepper, please!" he begged, striding after her.  "Come on, I'm sorry, okay!"_

_"No, you're not!  You're never sorry!  I'm taking a day off, okay, I just can't deal with you right now..."_

_"Pep!"_

Tony's eyes snapped open.  He was covered in a cold sweat and everything was dark, silent, heavy...

* * *

Natasha was leading them toward stairwell 4 when their comms all crackled.

"Where is he?" demanded Tony.  His voice sounded all wrong. Strained, cracking, frantic.

"What?"

"Where's the body, I need-- I need to take him home--"

"Tony?  What are you talking about?  ...we're on our way up," reported Natasha.

There was some shuffling on the other side of the comm, then it cut out.

"The hell?" asked Sam.

Natasha shook her head.  She was starting to think Stark wasn't exactly battle-tested.  Not by a long shot.

"Coulson. I know you're on the jet but can you send Clint out to check on Tony? I think his breakdown has taken a turn for the worse..." Natasha said over comms and Phil just replied with a quick: "On it."

Seeing  as HYDRA had heat-inducing technology it had seemed best to leave the omegas back. But now Steve was apparently in heat with Bucky with him... considering both Natasha and Sam were Alphas too, things could get messy.

They edged down towards stairwell four. They couldn't see anyone.

"It was on this floor, right?" Natasha asked softly, gun extended.

"Yeah. Look. Those are the guards Steve took out," Sam nodded. "Maybe they just moved further down... or maybe--"

"Shush." Natasha held up a hand. Her eyes narrowed, then she closed them... concentrating. "I can smell him, can you? It's faint but... he's definitely close."

* * *

Wanda was taking a breather.  Pietro was pacing. His version of pacing involved occasional spurts of speed that gave him the impression of a hummingbird or a tape that was being fast-forwarded.

Stark was lying with his back against a crate, head in his hands.  Or at least, the suit was. Inside it was Stark, and this was a problem, because they couldn't kill him while he was locked in the armor.

There was a slam; both of them looked up.  Pietro stopped mid-stride, but it was another omega.

A man appeared; he was in black tactical gear and had what looked like a quiver of arrows over his shoulder.  His hair was short and his eyes had the sharpness of a sniper. Pietro knew a sniper when he saw one; Sokovia was riddled with them.

Wanda looked at Pietro.  She couldn't tell but she suspected a rabbit.  The man was lean, and he was blond. Omegas had an overwhelming tendency (thirty to fifty percent) to be blonds.

Pietro nodded to her, then looked over at the sniper.  He was far away, but had already stopped and was staring at them.

"Are you an American?" called Pietro.

"Yeah.  You with HYDRA?" called the man back.

"...I'm with nobody," said Pietro.  "...are you?"

"I'm not with HYDRA, if that's what you're asking."

The omega began walking slowly toward them; both of them watched warily.

He paused after closing the gap halfway; he'd glanced a familiar gleam of red.  "...Stark?" he called.

"You're with Stark?" asked Pietro.

"I can't say I like him but we carpooled together here."

Pietro wasn't familiar with the term "carpool."  He looked over at Wanda for support. This man didn't seem like an enemy but they couldn't take any chances.  Not when they were this close. He nodded to her; her gaze fixed on the other omega and her hands tensed, beginning to draw patterns in the air.

* * *

Steve shivered at the wet drag of tongue involuntarily. He braced his hands against Bucky's chest, either in comfort or to push him away. He wasn't sure. His vision was losing focus. A heat and malnutrition really were a terrible combination. He groaned, more in pain than pleasure and tried to look up at Bucky, his hands fisting in the other's jacket. "Buck..." he tried to get out but that was all he could manage.

Bucky felt encouraged by the sound of his name; he gently turned Steve around, leaning down to bite his mark on the back of Steve's neck, as delicately as possible.  His teeth fit into the scar correctly now. He let out a soft, appreciative growl, wrapped his arms around Steve, his right hand pushing his shirt up and his pants down, touching his abs, fingering the fine trail of hair that trailed down from his navel.

"What...what are we doing...?" Steve would have protested but lying down actually felt nice. It would be nice to sleep, he thought. He couldn't reasonably be expected to fight HYDRA when he was this tired.  Maybe a very short, tactical nap was in order.  He let his eyes slip shut. Steve hummed and squirmed a little, Bucky's fingers cold to the touch against his skin. He was limp and sleepy and actually very close to falling asleep like this. "Buck..." he whispered.

"Steve," whispered Bucky.

" _Step. Away. From. Him_."  A third voice, sharp and hard and commanding.

Natasha appeared in the stairwell, just above them, stun gun aimed at Bucky's head. Her eyes were fiery. She looked ready to kill. The Winter Soldier was a terrifying man, capable of terrible things but she did not show a flicker of fear. Natasha stepped forward; she sneered back, lip curling up, when Bucky growled up at her.

"Look at him. He's half dead! You would take what is not freely given? Is _that_ the kind of Alpha you are?" Natasha demanded, voice soft but vehement with fury.

Sam appeared behind her with a more lethal type of gun in his hands. "Steve wouldn't want you to fight us. We're his friends. Step down, soldier. And step away from Steve Rogers."

Bucky's dander was up and his teeth were bared.  He remained lying over Steve, protectively, glaring at the other two Alphas.  He did not know who they were.  He no longer felt he could trust anyone, except for Steve, and Karpov.  He was not going to back away just because they told him to.  He would not leave his omega, still partially in heat, to these two unknown Alphas.

"Back off!" he growled, the words barely articulated.  "He's mine!"

He was trembling with emotion, Steve's body warm beneath him.  He shifted a little, just to cover more of him. He didn't know who these people were but he sure as hell wasn't going to let them anywhere near his omega.  They were insane if they thought there was even the slightest possibility of that.

"Steve?" ventured Sam.  "Steve? Can you talk to us, buddy?  Are you hurt?"

"If you don't get off him in the next five seconds, I'm going to tase you straight to hell," snarled Natasha.

"Stay away from him!"

"Five... four..."

"Steve?" repeated Sam.

Their comms crackled and Clint's voice flooded their ears.  "Guys?!" It was frantic. "I need backup, stat, I'm in the storage--"  The comms cut out again.

Natasha swore and hit the trigger, not willing to waste precious seconds.  Bucky's body immediately convulsed; since he was in contact with Steve, so did Steve, but that was unavoidable collateral damage and Natasha trusted that once they got Steve to the safety of the jet, he'd be okay.  He healed fast; it was most important just to get him out of here.

Sam strode over and shoved Bucky's limp body off of Steve.

"Hey, buddy, it's us, we got you," he said.

Bucky's left arm whipped out and his hand wrapped around Sam's wrist.  "No..." he slurred. "Don't take... don't touch... Steve..."

Sam could literally feel the hand crushing his bones; his eyes watered.  "Nat!" he gasped.

She hit the stun gun again.  Both Bucky and Sam went down.  

"Fuck," she said, looking at the three half-conscious bodies in front of her.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Natasha found a water bottle on one of the dead guards in the corridor and emptied it over Sam and Steve's faces after dragging them away from Bucky (and God did they weigh _a lot_ ). She grunted with the effort and it felt like her arms were going to pop out of her sockets when she attempt to lift Steve, and immediately gave up on the idea. Sam woke with a gasp and a splutter.

"Fuck," Sam rubbed at his temple. "That stung."

"How's your wrist?" she asked as she patted Steve's cheek, trying to wake him up. Steve's eyes fluttered but he didn't really _wake_.

Sam flexed his fingers. "Sprained, maybe but not broken. Thanks... I think."

"Come on, you gotta help me carry him," Natasha said and Sam nodded, moving with a wince to grab one side of Steve whilst she grabbed the other. Even with the weight he'd lost in captivity, Steve was still built like a bull and weighed a hell of a lot. And even sharing the weight didn't make it much better.

"We can't carry him, too," Sam said and nodded to the Winter Solider. Bucky had been hit twice so he was pretty much out. His metal fingers twitched, but that was all.

"We'll have to come back for him," Natasha said. Steve's head lolled against his chest. He was a dead weight.

"What if he's not here when we get back?" Sam asked.

"Clint needs our help. Steve needs medical attention. We take the risk," Natasha snapped and Sam just nodded, getting a better grip on Steve before they made to go.

Bucky's head was swimming; when he managed to open his eyes, they were gone.

He groaned, crawling upwards.  "Steve!" he called out weakly, desperately.  " _Steve..._!"

* * *

"Try to drink some water," offered Pietro.

Wanda was slumped against one crate, facing Stark.  Clint was sprawled to their left.

"I can't."

"You can.  You _can_ , Wanda, you're doing great."

"I can't control it."

"I know you can."  Pietro crouched in front of her and cupped her face in his hands.  "We're so close, Wanda. I just need one more push. Even if you can just get him to take the helmet off, that would be enough.  Trust me, okay? You can do it. You trust your big brother, don't you?"

She gave him a weak smile and swiped his hands away.  "You're _two minutes_ older..."

There was a slam.

Both of them looked up in alarm.

Two figures were struggling to drag a third man into the storage room.

"...Steve! said Pietro, recognizing the smell instantly.

That word instantly moved Tony.  He ripped off his faceplate and tore across the room.  "Steve! Steve!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" protested Sam, nearly dropping him.  Tony was a mess; the sight of Steve's limp body instantly caused him to start wailing.

Pietro was gone from Wanda's side in a flash and suddenly, Tony's nose was bleeding, his cry broken; his eyes widened in shock.

" _Did you just punch me_?"

"Yes, in retrospect, that was a very poor plan," said Pietro.  Another flash and suddenly he was standing by Sam's side, holding his gun.

"Go ahead and shoot me," said Tony.  "I don't care anymore."

Steve groaned and his head lolled.

"--never mind, he's alive, I _do_ care, _don't_ shoot me!"

"Shoot him!  Shoot him!" cried Wanda.

Someone shot, but it wasn't Pietro.

Clint managed to sit up wearily, notch an arrow, and shoot it at Pietro's hand.  The gun went off, deafening everyone and hitting a light fixture. Pietro cried out, his hand bleeding, dropping the gun.

Sam reached over and slammed him in the back of the head; he dropped.

"PIETRO!" screamed Wanda.

"Shit," said Sam.

"Steve!"  Tony picked up Steve's ragdoll body in his arms easily.  Steve looked pale and gaunt; he had bags under his eyes and his lips were cracked and he looked like he hadn't showered in over a week.  To Tony, he'd never been more beautiful.

"Pietro!" shrieked Wanda, scrambling across the floor towards her unconscious brother.  "Pietro!"

"Come on.  Let's go," demanded Natasha, who could ID a raid going south from a mile away.  She didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity of these two children, let alone the Winter Soldier, who would probably recover quickly and come after them.  And super soldier or not, she was concerned for Steve's condition.

"What about the Winter Soldier?" Sam asked.

"Now isn't the time to deal with him," Natasha said simply. "Tony, can you pick him up? ...Tony? Tony!" She clapped her hands in front of the Alpha's face to get him to stop babbling to his unconscious mate. "Carry him. Over here. Let's get him in the van, and let's get out of this place."

Natasha propped open an emergency exit; it no longer mattered if they triggered any more alarms.  They were way past that.

Tony clung to Steve's body and followed her and the others out of the cargo hold into the sharp, hazy sunlight of a hot Yemen afternoon.

Once Tony was in the van and everyone else piled in, Natasha slammed the doors and reached under the dash to start the engine. Wanda was still kneeling in the cargo hold, curled over her brother, tears running down her cheeks, trying to wake him up.  She looked up at the sound of the van starting.

"You monsters!" she wailed and Natasha sent her a deadly look over her shoulder.

"Oh, grow up," she said, and hit the accelerator.


	35. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings apply to this chapter: Steve gets a rape kit done and Tony talks about some of his experiences in Afghanistan. 
> 
> Let's be honest, if you've read this far, you already know that we don't pull punches. Still, content warning. - T

Steve woke up. Sort of. He heard voices, a lot of them, and the back of his neck throbbed. Someone was wiping it with something wet. Urgh. It stung and it smelled of anti-septic. He twitched. What had happened to his neck? Why were they--

The memory of teeth sinking into his neck shuddered through him and Steve's eyes flew open.  He lashed out, knocking Clint away with some force, arms in front of his face, ready to defend himself.

"Whoa, buddy." Sam put a hand on his ankle to still him. Steve was on some kind of medical bench. "Calm down. It's just us."

His vision was blurry. He was so freaking tired. And hungry.

Steve groaned. "Where is he?" he groaned.  "What have you done to him?"

"We left him there," Natasha said, helping Clint stand. "We had to get out, Steve."

Where were they? Were they on a jet? It felt like a jet...

Steve said nothing. He felt...empty.

"When we found you two, he was trying to assault you. We had to taser him. _Twice_."

Steve was so confused. He shook his head. The last thing he could coherently remember was Karpov leaving and Bucky scrambling against the glass. "W-what... what happened to my neck? It hurts."

Everyone in the jet fell silent.

Phil was the one to take the lead.

"The Winter Soldier bit you.  We were hoping you could fill us in on the details of your incarceration."

Clint moved back to Steve's side, wiping at his neck gently.  It was bleeding intermittently. Natasha and Sam were looking away with some degree of modesty.  The back of an omega's neck was something of a private matter.

Tony was in the front of the jet.  He had gone from complete hysteria over Steve's death to complete hysteria over Steve's being alive to complete hysteria over discovering that his mark had been mangled by another Alpha, and was currently sitting hunched in a seat not designed for hundreds of pounds of metal exo-suit, sipping a bottle of scotch and staring off into the middle distance.  His nose was bleeding on and off into his beard but didn't seem interested in treatment. He hadn't been able to provide much context about the twins; Clint had been able to give a little bit of information but not more much.

In the end they'd left Tony to his own devices to focus on Steve.  Being bonded was on par with being mated; they were currently operating under the assumption that Steve had probably been forcibly mated by the Winter Soldier.

Phil didn't ask any questions, waiting for Steve to explain what had happened.  It was a likely possibility that Steve had already been assaulted but he was going to let Steve volunteer that, not immediately begin prying.

"...if you want, we can leave," added Sam softly.  "We," of course, referring to him and Natasha, the Alphas.

"Stay," Steve said softly in a pseudo request.

He stared down at his hands. There were shaking. That was the malnutrition.

And he still needed to pee.

"I don't remember. I--" Steve ran a hand over his face and took a minute. It was so hard to focus. To get his head to _work_. "They told him to take me and he stopped. I fought him and then he stopped. He knew my mom's name... then they put something in the cage. I dunno. It was in the air. That's the last thing I remember."

"Right," Phil said gently and stepped forward. They obviously weren't going to get anything solid out of Steve for a while. Now wasn't a time to delve into the reason he called HYDRA in the first place, which was a very concerning thing in the first place. "Steve. We're going to need to do a rape kit."

Steve's face fell.

They'd already cut off Steve's shirt and pants.  They were relatively surprised to discover he wasn't, for the most part, injured, aside from an ankle that was either sprained or broken.  It was difficult to tell because clear Steve had been hobbling around on it and it was badly swollen. Natasha had already set it while Steve was half-conscious; he moaned weakly in pain and protest.

"Standard procedure, Captain," said Phil quietly.  "And we'll need blood and urine samples. They drugged you, badly.  We need to make sure..." He trailed off.

"We're going to the base hospital," said Natasha.  "...Steve... I wish you'd called me. Instead of Sitwell.  You know I would have answered. You know I would've come."

Clint brushed Steve's hair away from his face.  "Yeah. We're here for you, buddy." He looked up to Phil and nodded.

"...whenever you're ready, Captain," said Phil gently.

"Well I'd love to be able to pee right now, in all honesty," Steve breathed. It was hard to meet their gazes. It was like...he's betrayed them, or something. But really, he'd just let them down. He'd kind of gone AWOL in the past two months, the calmest period being when he actually took the time to visit Peggy.

He glanced up at Clint's touch. It was gentle. He almost smiled.

Steve didn't have it in him to explain why he'd called HYDRA. He didn't like to think about it. He'd been incredibly low and,  well... _angry_ at the time.

They took the blood first, and then Clint helped Steve walk to the bathroom so he could pee and they could collect a sample.

Clint helped ease him back down onto the bench as Phil fanned out the blood samples on the surface beside him. "They took my blood. I think. A lot of it," Steve whispered.

Sam nodded. "Makes sense."

"If it makes you feel any better, Steve, they've had the recipe for the serum since the eighties," said Phil calmly.  "...they'd never been able to activate it correctly, though. Most of their soldiers turned feral, based on our intelligence, and were disposed of.  ...I doubt they'll be able to use your blood to learn anything they don't already know."

Steve sat with his knees drawn close to his chest. He looked almost child-like. Natasha was getting a smaller box out of the elaborate first aid on the wall. He swallowed. "So how do we do this?"

Phil stretched a hand out.  Natasha handed him the box.

"I'm going to swab inside your mouth first.  Then between your legs," said Phil, with his usual professional attitude.  Clint's hand was still resting lightly, gently, on Steve's bare leg. "I'm going to comb through your hair-- all of it-- and scrape under your fingernails.  We'll have the lab process it and we should be able to figure out... if anything happened." A pause.

"The nail part's kind of nice," offered Natasha.

Clint gave her an incredulous look.  "...seriously?"

She shrugged.  "Just trying to make him feel better."

"Open," commanded Phil, holding a long cotton swab in front of Steve's mouth.

"...I don't know if this helps, but Tony's here," said Clint quietly while Phil poked around Steve's mouth.  "He came with us. He's the one who carried you out."

"I knew he had to come. I told him where I was," Steve replied calmly as Phil pulled the swab out. Then he pulled out a comb to run through his hair. That almost felt nice too. Clint almost smiled at him. "Where is Tony now?"

"He...he didn't know if you'd want him in here," Sam said in a half lie. "After...stuff."

Steve nodded, moving his head back as Phil tugged on the comb especially hard.

"Sorry!" he piped up.

"You're fine," Steve assured him softly.

Then he moved on to clean out his nails. They were filled with dirt and even a little blood from when Steve had levelled the guards. Natasha was right, it felt good.

Everyone was watching him like he was going to break. It was... weird.

"You really gave us a fright, Steve," Clint and breathed and suddenly Steve felt guilty.

"My neck hurts," was all he had to say. "Like, really hurts."

"Yeah... well... rebonding does that," said Sam softly.

"He, uh, he got the gland," said Clint.  "...I'm sorry," he added, patting Steve's leg.

"Alright, Captain," said Phil.  "...whenever you're ready." He nodded to Steve's boxers.  "...I should probably get the back of his neck, too," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"We called Dr. Gleason.  Figured that was the guy who... knew the most about you.  Fury's trying to get him added as a SHIELD consultant and get him clearance in case... you know," said Natasha.

"That's good of Fury," Steve whispered, thinking that he hadn't really had to go the extra effort. But he had.

"...is there anything we can get you, man?  Water? Food?" asked Sam. He didn't say "Tony" but assumed Steve knew that was an option.  The subject of Steve and Tony's relationship was definitely the white elephant in the room.

They'd spent the last two months apart because of Steve's previous bond, which had mostly healed.  But now it was back, big and bold and unapologetic. Steve's bond with Bucky was no longer the ancient, wispy thing it had been.  It was a real bond... or at least as much as it could be, considering the state of Bucky's mind.

Steve let Phil do the back of his neck first. He winced a little, the wound still tender. Phil didn't bother to apologise again. It felt a little pointless. "Water would be great...and a blanket?" he asked tentatively.

Sam nodded. "Sure thing pal." He disappeared to go grab both those things, going to pick up sandwiches too for good measure.

Phil swabbing down there was _awkward_.  Steve looked up at the seams on the ceiling, the small bolts, trying to ignore the sensation.  Natasha pointedly didn't look and glanced to the floor. Phil was as gentle as he could be. Steve didn't feel remotely sore around there, which he took as a good sign. But then if they'd induced a heat, did that really mean anything? He was just grateful when Sam returned with a blanket. It was nice to be a bit less... naked.

Although there was no paint between his legs, the back of his neck _burned_. He wanted to get rid of it. Steve wished they could cut it out, or something.

"How... how long was I in there?" Steve asked with a swallow.

"Oh, not long at all," said Natasha, who was studying the writing on the first aid kit with interest.  "Four and a half days. Sorry it took us so long. I saw you fall off the grid on day one, but we had to pull records and interrogate Sitwell and... well, Tony didn't figure out it was Yemen until day three."  She glanced up apologetically.  "I was tracking you. Sorry, but not sorry.  If I hadn't been, we might not have come as fast as we did.   And as far as... as being in heat, I think you were only out for a day.  Maybe less. Hard to say."

"Four days?" Steve echoed. It hadn't felt like four days. "I only slept once." Natasha gave him an alarmed look. "The room...it was always light. I had no idea." He shrugged. He wasn't surprised Natasha had been tracking him and he didn't really mind, knowing she'd done it as a friend and not SHIELD. And after everything...he was damned grateful too.

God, he'd been so stupid...

"You should eat," said Phil quietly, edging the sandwich Sam had brought over toward Steve.  He was sealing the swabs into little tubes and then the tube into envelopes, labeling them with small, neat handwriting.

The sandwich was cheese and ham. Steve picked it up then pulled a face it before biting off a corner. It felt strange to eat after so long without. He kept the bites small, not wanting to make himself sick.

"Here," said Clint, pressing a cool cloth over Steve's neck.  He glanced over at the others, then back to Steve. No one, he remembered, had explained this stuff to Steve; Steve had grown up in the twenties.  "...that's actually how it feels. I mean... I mean, every time you're bitten there. It's just that, the first time, you go into the honeymoon phase and you're so full of hormones, you don't notice it.  Same with heats. It actually hurts like hell if it's..." He trailed off. Steve's heat had been induced, not natural, and now that the hormones had worn off, Steve's neck was no doubt in excruciating pain.  Omegas had described abnormal breaking of the gland to feel like acid. "It takes two or three days before it stops stinging," he added.

When Clint put the cloth on him it felt like heaven. He sighed and let his eyes slip shut. "Thanks," he croaked out. "Three days? Huh. Fun times," he said, trying to act unphased. Maybe the serum would speed it up. Maybe it would only be a day. He could hope...because it fucking killed.

"We have ten minutes till we're ready to land," Sam filled in, glancing at one of the screens on the walls.

Natasha got up and went to the front of the jet to take it off auto-pilot and maneuver it onto the base.

No one had mentioned that their rescue mission had been completely unauthorized.

The moment the jet was on the group and the back hatch was opened, they were swarmed with a team in SWAT gear holding loaded weapons, plus EMTs, plus, perhaps more frightening than either, Director Fury.  Trailing behind him was Maria Hill, Vice President Rodriguez, and a woman from the World Security Council.

"Put down your weapons!" yelled one of the SWAT team, but they were already complying.  Watching Natasha disarm herself was like watching a magician pull a scarf out of his sleeve; she had guns, knives, tasers, garrotes, brass knuckles, pepper spray, and a dozen other devices stored in every nook and cranny.

"There better be a goddamn incredible reason you stole a government jet, invaded a sovereign nation, and illegally detained and tortured one of our agents," said Fury as Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Phil all put their hands on their heads.

The EMTs had come to Steve like moths to a flame; Phil handed off the kit to one of them, and Steve found himself being pushed down onto a gurney and an IV pushed into his arm.

"Oh, and welcome back, Captain," he added as they wheeled Steve off the jet.  It was a cool, brisk day. Late February, partially cloudy. California was as stubbornly pleasant as ever; it was probably in the sixties.  "I'll have a chat with _you_ later."

And then Steve was being dragged off to the nearest medical building on base.  Despite the care he'd already received in the jet, the EMTs seemed hell-bent on doing everything over again.  They dragged him to get an MRI, a CAT scan, and a battery of X-rays; someone took his sandwich away in case he needed surgery.  (It turned out he didn't and they had wasted a perfectly good sandwich.)

It was fourteen hours of testing before they have him moved into a permanent hospital bed.  It was on the ground floor and there was a window, so Steve could see out onto the base. The room had only the one bed and no television or other entertainment, but the window seemed to imply he wasn't actually being held prisoner.

They had tried to put a couple of different pain medications into the IV bags but nothing seemed to work especially well; in the end, they had simply kept replacing a cold, damp cloth on the back of Steve's neck.  Steve's body tore through the IV bags like crazy, clearly desperate for both water and nutrients.

"Well, Captain," said one of the doctors, flipping through his chart.  "...this probably doesn't come as much of a surprise to you, but aside from the ankle and your neck, we don't see any other injuries at all, so we'll be able to discharge you in about a day or two.  Until then, get some rest. You look like you need it. ...oh, and you're scheduled to see a... Dr. Gleason? Tomorrow at nine." She replaced the chart and walked out, turning off the light after her, leaving Steve alone for the first time in literally days.

Steve let out a sigh of relief once the door shut behind her. That meant that Bucky hadn't...

No, of course he hadn't.  Steve should have known better.  Bucky would never hurt him.

He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back, or rather, onto his side. His neck hurt too much to lean on. He shaking with a strange sense of gratitude. He remembered what Natasha said, about how she found them... but still. This was something. Bucky hadn't been far gone enough to actually go through with it.  There was still some Bucky in the Winter Soldier, after all.

Steve closed his eyes, pushing those thoughts away. He was tired. So goddamn tired. Too tired to think about Bucky or Tony or anyone or even the massing telling off Fury was probably going to give him tomorrow. He could rest. He was safe. He had a bed and a _toilet._

It didn't take him long to drift off the sleep.

* * *

They were all sat at a plain Formica table. Natasha still had a HYDRA's soldier's blood flecked across her cheek bone, and Clint still looked woozy from having his mind melded by that witch. Fury was stood at the front, eye narrowing as he watched the CCTV they'd pulled from Moscow of Steve being captured. "You said you got footage from the cell?"

"There's no useful intel in it," Sam said quietly. "And it doesn't make for nice watching." He'd pulled it from the director's computer, but after taking time to watch it on the jet ride back to base, he wished he hadn't. There was no solid information in it and the only significant part is when Bucky tries to mount Steve.  Something no one had a right to see.

"And you say Steve called Sitwell knowing he was HYDRA?"

Natasha shifted in her seat a little. "Yes," she replied calmly.

"I find that very hard to believe."

Natasha shot a look down the table at Tony. "I don't."

Tony had gotten out of the suit and was staring down at his hands.  With his sweatpants, undershirt, full beard, and paper cup of coffee, he looked like he was some homeless guy Fury had just dragged in off the streets.

"...last year, after I got back from... overseas... I went back to a place called Gulmira... I went back to get revenge," said Tony, talking to his cup of coffee.

"Captain Rogers has a pretty solid history of rouge missions," said Phil.  "...literally, his very first mission was completely unauthorized."

"His first mission was to keep an eye on Stark," said Fury, raising an eyebrow.

"No, his _first_ mission," said Coulson.  "November third, 1943."

Fury scowled.

"Have you talked to Sitwell?  He's a mole," said Barton.

"He's in custody," conceded Fury, folding his hands.  "...but you didn't know he was a mole when you detained him."

"We had suspicions," said Natasha.

"Can I go see Steve now?" asked Tony in a small voice, looking up suddenly.

Fury opened his mouth, then closed it.  There was a pregnant pause.

"Fine.  You're dismissed."

Sam let out a noise of protest.  "What?! You're dismissing Stark?"

"Stark's been on probation for nearly three months.  Unlike you. Stark didn't steal a jet or beat up Sitwell, either.  Unlike you. Stark's biggest crime is being an asshole who got involved with this hot mess, and considering he's got more issues than a newstand, I can't say I blame him for that."

"Thanks," said Tony, rising and leaving.

"...so I'm guessing we're all on probation now?" ventured Phil.

"You four are _lucky_ if you get probation!  Right now I'm fighting treason charges against you!  You have any idea how much a QuinJet costs?"

"Two hundred and fifty million, give or take a million," said Sam.

Fury glowered, because Sam had gotten it on the nose.

* * *

"Hey."

Steve stirred.  Tony had been sitting by the bed all night, staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes.  He was on his sixth cup of coffee. He'd thought Steve would never wake up; it was already morning and Steve had slept through two nurse changes.  Everyone ignored Tony, for which he was grateful.

One of Steve's bright blue eyes cracked open.

Steve hadn't dreamed, thank God. He felt shitty when he woke up less, a result of low blood sugar and dehydration, but significantly less shitty than before. And while he wasn't exactly pleased to see Tony by his bedside, he was... oddly grateful too. It was better than waking up alone. And he couldn't really think of anyone else he'd like to wake up next to. Huh.

Tony realized he didn't know what to say.  They'd been apart nearly two months.

"I grew a beard," he said.

His gaze flitted over Tony, slowly taking him in. "I don't like the beard," he said quietly but there no real bite to his words.

A long pause.

"...we missed Valentine's Day," Tony added, nodding toward a vase of roses next to the bed.  "I'm... I'm not great at that romance stuff... anyway..." He trailed off, then looked down at his hands.

Steve looked over at the roses. His chest felt strange. He moved to sit up with a grunt, his limbs stiff from being in a cage for four days.

"I'm not really great either," Steve breathed. He didn't know what to say. He felt awkward. Tony looked older with the beard; that's why he didn't like it.  Tony looked old enough to be his father.

He finally looked back at the Alpha. "Why are you here, Tony?"

Tony took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.  Considering the state of the shirt, it didn't do much good.  He put the glasses back on, then looked back down at his coffee, studying it.

"I don't know," he admitted.  "...because... you and I... are... were... are?... we bonded."  He glanced up, then down again. He knew about Steve's neck. He'd seen it.  His bonding mark was gone, replaced with a new one. He didn't know whether it had been forced or not.

" _Are_ bonded," Steve affirmed softly. "I don't remember it happening, for the record. I just...woke up with it," he said, as if he could read Tony's mind. He was always good at filling in the blanks.

"...I can shave the beard," said Tony after a moment.  "Pepper sort of hates it, too." He was still staring down at his cup.

According to Natasha, Steve had been out of the country for most of the last two months, unlike Tony, who had been holed up in his lodge in Colorado.  He had finally worked up the courage, only a week ago, to check the press about him and Steve.

Most of it wasn't too bad.  A lot of people thought it was very progressive of a trio with an omega and two Alphas.  Some were saying it was merely a publicity stunt. Others were pointing out that, even if Steve's old mate was still alive, he would be in his nineties and that functionally, Steve really only had one Alpha, Tony.  And many more were pointing out that Steve himself only considered himself pair-bonded to Tony so all this talk of the mysterious other Alpha was a moot point anyway.

Of course there was some bad stuff.  Speculation on which Alpha was dominant.  Plenty of forums and boards where people called Tony a homo.  He'd expected that.

"...I thought I'd lost you," said Tony.  "There was a moment, in Yemen, where I couldn't feel out bond anymore.  And it was bad. I felt... alone. I forgot how being unbonded feels. I hated it."  He reached up to push up his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose, looking tired. "Steve, you could've been killed.  I..." He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He didn't want Steve to die. He didn't want to lose Steve.

"I could have," Steve agreed, tone even. "But you don't suddenly get to care after treating me like shit for two months. That's not how this works. I don't care that I nearly died. I shouldn't have to be kidnapped to get your attention, Tony. And before you even think it, no- that is _not_ why I called them.  This wasn't about you."

He let out a frustrated breath. On the monitor his heart rate had gone up.

Steve didn't want to fight with him. But he also didn't have the energy to pretend everything was okay. It wasn't. And had Tony seen the footage of him in that cell? He didn't want him to. He didn't want anyone to. He prayed no one thought to download it.

"I can't deal with this roller-coaster with you. Suddenly you care, then suddenly you ignore me for two months and kick me out of my own home."

All of Steve's stuff had been moved in. The apartment in Westwood was empty. It was all he'd had. He could still remember JARVIS's empty voice telling him to leave. He'd never felt such a feeling of dread inside of himself before. He'd never felt so cold. Pepper had tried to apologise but he'd ignored her.  That wasn't fair of him. She hadn't deserved that.

"I appreciate you working out where I was and getting the others to come here, I really do. But if you're just going to give me the same bullshit, Tony, and pull this again in another six months, then save it, because my heart can't take it anymore. It just _can't_."

Tony nodded slowly, wearily.  He glanced up at the heart monitor, then at Steve, then reached out and set his hand on the bed, an offer but not a demand.

"Steve."  Tony took a deep breath, then let it out, slowly.  He looked up at the ceiling tiles, his eyes losing focus after a moment; Tony's "I'm doing math in my head" expression.

"...Steve... there's... complications.  Okay? I love you. I really do. You remember your first heat?  It was... like how you hear about in fairy tales and sitcoms and stuff.  True love. Instantaneous. The kind where you smell the other person and it just... sings to you.  You know? I love you, my... my body chose you. But here's the other thing." He cleared his throat a little.  "I like Pepper. A lot. Okay? She's a beta, and I don't feel the same... passion. But I really, really like her.  And if I had a chance with her, which I don't right now, but maybe someday... I'd want to take it, you know?" Tony paused.

Steve looked at the offered hand and almost looked like he might take it until Tony mentioned Pepper and then he drew his hand back into his lap with a swallow. His face was blank, hard to read. He still looked tired which was uncharacteristic of Steve in the first place. Not eating for four days straight had hit him harder than anything else had.

His neck was _burning_. The pain was so great his eyes almost wanted to water.

Tony was saying the Pepper thing because he didn't want to talk about the other thing.  He knew Steve knew he liked Pepper, and he knew Pepper knew, too. She'd probably always known.  There was a reason the two of them hadn't dated in the last decade. Their working relationship was incredible; a romantic one would probably be toxic.  And Tony knew that, deep down, no matter how much she loved him, she could never really handle him. Nor could he handle her. Tony was too wild and Pepper too organized, Tony too spontaneous and Pepper too mature.  She had a playful side, and Tony had a workaholic side, but at the end of the day, the two of them couldn't have a household together the way Steve and Tony could.

Tony traced the rim of his cup of coffee.

"So what?" Steve said, voice quiet. "You want me to sit around and wait with you until Pepper's available and then just move away into the background like the good omega I am?"

Steve was upset about other things and it was making him more upset to hear about this.

He needed to pee again. Goddammit. Was this his constant state now?  He was too proud to ask Tony for help in getting to the bathroom.  He'd wait for Sam.

Tony took a deep breath and dragged his hand through his hair.  "Let me start over.  ...this isn't about Pepper.  It's about... me.  About me being an Alpha.  Just... let me explain my thing, okay?"

Steve glared, waiting.

Tony played with his coffee cup for a several long moments before he began speaking.

"You knew Dad," said Tony.  He wasn't sure why he started there, but once he did, he didn't dare stop.  "Dad was a very... very dominant Alpha. I don't know if you ever met Obie, but he was, too.  Even more dominant than Dad, actually. When the two of them were in a room... Jesus, you have no idea.  You felt... small. And you know, the thing is, I... I was never very dominant.    I know you said you don't care, but I care.  Dad drank. And when he drank, he got mean. Sometimes he'd slap me around... not a lot or anything.  Just... just a little, trying to toughen me up, I think. He'd called me a sissy a few times, like... like how does a kid fix that, you know?  It's not like you sign a fucking sheet saying how dominant you want to be, it's just how you are. He packed me up and sent me to boarding school and, surprise, I was still not... I was one of the least dominant Alphas there.  I ate lunch with an omega." He paused, then added, "If I were born omega, I'd probably have been sent to the same camp Ty was."

Another long pause.

"After Dad died I... I was trying to run this business, and... and I felt like... like a joke, almost.  Me and Obadiah were partners. But I was the acting CEO, and Obie... he was like, a head taller, way, way more dominant, and... and I sort of found my niche by... you know, acting a lot more confident than I was and everything.  Because people will believe what they see, and I carved out this image of myself, you know, this no-fucks-to-give playboy, and everyone thought I was a badass, and then..."

Tony began picking at the Styrofoam.

"...then I went to... to Afghanistan and... and the... uh... leader... the guy... he... you know... he..."  Tony wasn't exactly pausing, but stretching out words. "...took me... like an omega... and... burned the back of my neck... and... uh... two others... and then... afterwards, they'd... mark me... keeping track, sort of... the cigarettes... I never counted... so... anyways... that's the thing, I guess."

Tony looked up suddenly, unexpectedly.  His eyes were sharp and clear, like he'd just shaken himself out of a daydream.  "You don't know how it feels for me. Because you, being an omega, you don't have those kinds of pressures.  To be masculine enough or dominant enough or whatever. But for Alphas... it's like, _everything_ , Steve. And this is hard for me.  The intimacy. And the... you being a guy part. Even though you're an omega. And... worrying that people will... think... or figure out..."  He trailed off, then looked down again. "I never counted them," he repeated, defiantly.

For Tony, who viewed the world as an elaborate equation, the temptation to count them had been enormous.  But this was his one, small act of defiance, of defining his abuse in a way that made him feel like he had some small bit of control over it.  They had made their tally as a reminder. Tony refused to be remained. He refused to quantify it. To him, numbers were an irresistible comfort, a constant certainty that never wavered.  But in this one, single instant in his life, he refused to acknowledge the numerical fact of what had happened. He had called them chicken pox scars so many times that he almost believed it himself.

He could ballpark how many there were.  More than a dozen, less than twice that.  But for some reason, not knowing whether it was sixteen or eighteen made Tony feel a small, smug sense of victory.  That their attempt to torture him by forcing him to remember had failed, at least a tiny bit, because he didn't know, at least not fully.

"...and I never told anyone before," added Tony, voice cracking.

He'd never voiced his deep, deep fears about being seen as a weak Alpha.  He knew that Rhodey and Pepper, at least, probably had a damn good idea of what had happened over there, but they never spoke of it.  Aside from them, two field doctors (one of whom was dead, the other MIA), and Yinsen (also dead), and of course Tony's captors (dead), and maybe Obie (dead), the very worst part of that entire experience had been maintained in secrecy, only ever hinted at, never discussed.  Rhodey had been the one to pick him up in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere and take him to the field hospital, and Tony figured he might know something.

Pepper had of course been with him since the day he got back, and the closest they ever got to talking about it was when, after a three-month dry spell after his return, Tony finally got the HIV test results in the mail: negative.  He'd broken down and cried with relief and she had shushed him on the couch, hugging him while he sobbed all over her most recent Saks Fifth Avenue acquisition. It had been a pale yellow with small black dots. For some reason, he remembered that detail vividly.

He'd never seen her wear that shirt again.

"What happened to you what shit. Unequivocally shit. And some of what you've said actually makes a lot of sense."

Steve had known chickenpox scars didn't look like that. But in the army a lot of people had scars, and you didn't press to know about them. Scars were personal, intimate. They came out in their own time.

"Everything you've just said _explains,_ what you did but it doesn't make it okay," Steve said quietly and picked at the bedsheets. "It doesn't mean you get to just kick me out of my home for months, or hit on women...what you're dealing with _, your_ demons, is your shit. And I wante to help you through that, but you never had a right to humiliate or degrade me because of it.  And it feels kind of hypocritical when you were paranoid about an old bondmate who didn't even know who I was, when you were working and half living with a woman you're in love with, and still are."

Tony picked at the Styrofoam a little harder, trying to wrap up what he was saying.  "So what I'm saying... is that... it... affected me... a lot..." Tony's brow furrowed as he concentrated on the cup.  "...but... now that... he rebonded you... it's like... like... I don't even care because... I'm just so... _glad--_ "  His voice cracked again.  "--that you're alive."

He accidentally picked a hole into the cup of coffee, which prompted spilled all over him.  Tony looked mildly surprised by this and looked up at Steve in alarm, as if to ask him if he'd known there was coffee in the cup all along.  Then he looked down at himself.

"...this was my last clean pair of pants," he said, sounding a bit dazed.   _Clean_ was not the word Steve would have used to describe them, even before the coffee spill.

Steve looked over when Tony spilt coffee on himself and almost laughed, a hand over his mouth.

"Least you have pants," he said. "They've just put me in this gown thing."

"Ooh la la.  It look stunning on you," said Tony.

They shared an awkward, forced smile.

Steve was quiet for a moment. "I guess... I guess if we're being honest..." he began.  "The thing is... your Dad.  He was inappropriate, with his... hands, not just what he said. But he didn't want me. He just wanted Captain America... but you can't really have sex with a concept.  And I'm not a concept, Tony.  I'm a person.  I need you to treat me like that.  Like a person.  Not a trophy."

Tony's face was largely expressionless; he just nodded.  "...Dad was... progressive for a guy born in his generation.  He liked omegas. He hired them, worked with them. But I don't think he saw them like people.  Jarvis was kind of like... a beloved dog, I guess. He did love him. Just not as an equal. ...maybe that's why our relationship was so piss-poor.  He saw me as a concept, too. And the problem with concepts are, they're perfect. And people... yeah, people aren't perfect."

He looked down.  He wanted to apologize for his father but didn't know how and didn't think it would mean anything, anyway.  His father had been dead for a quarter of a century

"...Steve, _I'm_ not perfect.  I'm never gonna be perfect. I've got..."  Tony reached up to rub the back of his neck, where the largest scar was.  "...Fury says I've got more issues than a news stand. ...I know that monogamy is important to you.  I'm not gonna... I'm not gonna go around sticking my dick into every bubble-headed, bleach-blonde bimbo that looks my way.  But I'm gonna flirt. I'm gonna posture.  That's just who I am.  I'm insecure, and I'm a low-dominance Alpha, and I feel like... I feel like I need to prove that.  Like I said.  I'm not perfect.  Trust me, it _kills_ me to admit that."

Steve smiled weakly.  "I bet."

"If you can't handle that, then..." Tony shrugged a little, and looked away. "...but I already decided that... _I_ don't care, if you have a double bond.  You're right about me being hypocritical and treating you like a trophy.  I don't want you as a trophy anymore.  I want you as my mate.  My _only_ mate.  I thought I lost you. And I don't wanna lose you. ...I hope that's good enough but I... understand if it's not."


	36. Healing

Tony had said he wanted Steve, and had begun slowly shredding his Styrofoam coffee cup while he waited for a response.  His hands, as usual, had to be kept busy. His lap was filling with artificial snow.

Before Steve could reply to Tony's heartfelt declaration of commitment, there was a knock on the door, and Dr. Gleason and Sam walked in.

Sam cast a disparaging look at Tony; the coffee spill had completed Tony's look of hobo-ism.

Dr. Gleason ignored him.  He watched the news and knew the two had been separated, but that wasn't why he was here.

"Hello there, Captain," he said, pulling up a chair.  "...how are you today?"

"My neck hurts," Steve said instantly. "Ankle is minimal to how it felt before." Considering he hadn't been standing and walking on it, it felt much better. The serum was doing its magic and within a week Steve was sure he'd have no pain in his foot at all.

Gleason nodded and walked around, frowning a little as he peeled back the bandage to study his neck.

Sam pulled up a chair as well and dropped into it.  "I wanna talk to you about what happened in Yemen." He glanced at Tony.  "You want him here?" he asked, jerking a thumb at Tony.

"Tony can stay," Steve said softly, glancing over at Sam. He really had nothing to hide anymore. That was it. He was done.

"I think it's infected," Gleason sighed. "It looks like the Winter Soldier doesn't brush his teeth. I'm going to have to take some swabs and then manually drain it."

"But what about the serum?" Sam asked.

The doctor shrugged. "When a body is trying to reject the bond bite it becomes more agitated and red; it heals slower and so infection is more likely.  No serum in the world can change that."

Steve didn't say anything about his body rejecting the bite. The pain made it feel like the bite was fighting to stay, earning its place, and it meant that Steve was constantly reminded of its presence. Consciously, _he_ didn't feel like he was fighting it. He didn't know he _could_.

"...when it heals, will it scar?" Steve asked quietly.

Gleason hummed. "We'll see, with time."

Steve frowned a little. What did that mean? That they didn't know?

Sam looked troubled so Steve prompted him as Gleason soon became busy getting out tubes and swabs and anti-bacterial wipes. It was a distraction, at least.  "What about Yemen?" he asked.

"I saw the tapes.  ...I assume you'd prefer if I didn't know anyone else."

"I'd appreciate that," Steve said quietly, not knowing what else to say. He could see Sam had questions but was holding back because of Tony. "It was hard getting him to say anything, let alone the location of the base. Don't judge me too harshly."

"I wasn't," Sam assured him quietly.

“So the mark… the mark’ll heal, right, doc?”

“In a week or less,” confirmed Dr. Gleason.

A week, right. Okay." Steve murmured and stared down at the floor. A week and then the connection with Bucky, however weak, would be gone. He felt both awful and relieved about it. SHIELD wouldn't trust him with the Winter Soldier bonded to him, would they? This could ruin everything.

...but maybe Steve could try and find him and fix him. Maybe he could save Bucky from himself. But that was for another day. Steve was still stuck in a bed and according Natasha he'd been trying to have sex with him whilst he was unconscious... he needed to follow up on that.  That just didn't sound like Bucky.

"How is everyone else? Not in too much trouble, right?"

Sam offered Steve a weak smile.

"...oh, boy, well... we're all on probation and under house arrest.  Clint and Natasha disappeared together to some safe house, I don't know the details.  Me and Phil, we're confined to the base. They're, uh, they're bringing us up on some pretty... some pretty rough charges.  But I think they'll be dropped. Fury is spitting mad but he's fighting for us. You know how he is. ...I think everyone's just... glad you're back."

Gleason held out a clipboard for Steve to sign a paper that would let him access the samples SHIELD had taken from him in the jet.

"I'm glad you're back," echoed Tony, very quietly.

Sam shot him a look of annoyance.  "...they're letting you off the hook because people do crazy things for their mates.  ...not that you've been acting like much of a mate to him, lately."

"Yeah, I've been an ass," agreed Tony without a trace of emotion.

Tony had finished shredding his coffee cup and was now fiddling with his fingers in his lap, stealing glances at Steve often.

"I didn't mean to create this kind of shit storm," Steve said and he really hadn't. He'd sort of just forgotten, or chose to ignore, that his actions had consequences. And his friends getting into a hell of a lot of trouble for him was one of them. He felt bad, all of a sudden. They hadn't deserved this and he'd literally brought this on _himself_.

"...well, hospitals are places for healing," cut in Gleason.  "Captain, I'd like to suggest you stay here for at least a couple of days.  We need to keep an eye on that wound on your neck. Dual bonds tend to get more irritated and heal slower; whatever else the military doctors might have said to you, I think you should be on bedrest for the next week.  I doubt they see many dual bonds." He rose. "I'll be in tomorrow to go over some lab results with you. ...is there anything you'd like me to bring? This room doesn't seem especially... homey."

Steve took the paper and signed it without a second thought. He trusted Gleason. Steve handed it back. The doctor smiled at him.

"A sketch book and a pencil would be swell, actually," Steve said when Gleason offered. He was like Tony. He hated just _sitting_ , especially when he was alone. He knew he'd get restless, and drawing always made him feel better.

"They also said they were sending in a psychologist tomorrow," Sam added quietly. "You know, they're...worried about you."

"Yeah," Steve said, his mouth dry. "I guess I should have expected that."

"You spotted Sitwell when no one else did though. Good spy work," Sam said, trying to lighten the mood. "I know Nat was impressed secretly."

"...she does everything secretly, doesn't she?" said Tony.

Sam offered him a tight smile.

"Get some rest, Captain.  ...and Mr. Stark, you look like you could use a nap, too," said Gleason.

That was an understatement.

Dr. Gleason departed.  Sam sat for a few seconds by Steve's bed, then rose.  "Well... I gotta go give some more statements. Don't worry about the shit storm, Steve.  We look out for each other; we got each other's backs. That's what it means when we put on the uniform, right?"  He put a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"...that's what Rhodey says," said Tony, looking up.

"Yeah?  ...your buddy Rhodes is with the Undersecretary of Defense right now, trying to keep them from stripping all four of us of our citizenship and shipping us to Guantanamo."

"He's a good bro like that," said Tony mildly, looking back down.

Sam gave Steve's shoulder another squeeze.  "I'll take care of the tape. ...try to take it easy, okay, man?"

"You too," Steve said softly. Sam offered a small nod.

With that, he left, and Tony and Steve were alone again.

Tony began arranging the tiny pieces of shredded Styrofoam onto the grid on his thigh.  "...you mind if I stay here?" he asked, voice low.

Steve wondered if Sam and Rhodey were friends after New Year's Eve. Whilst he'd been cut off Tony he'd been cut off from everyone else too. He realized he had no idea how any of his friends were, or if they were okay. Steve had been a shit friend. He'd ignored them for two months and then dragged them into _this_.  Uniform or not, he certainly felt like a selfish jerk. He'd made his and Tony's problem everyone else's problem, too.

"No," he assured him. "I don't mind."

It was quiet for at least a minute but it wasn't awkward. Steve was taking his time before he spoke up, because he didn't want to say the wrong thing. He knew that Tony being okay with him being double bonded was _huge_ and, admittedly, shocking. Steve hadn't expected that. The minute he'd felt the bite he'd expected Tony to be out.

"So...are you saying you flirting with people didn't mean anything? Because I always assumed...well, you made it clear you missed being with women. I thought it meant...something," Steve finally said lamely.

"I _do_ miss women," said Tony.  He shrugged a little. "But I flirt for the cameras.  ...Steve, I'm forty years old. I don't have the stamina I did when I was twenty-five.  ...it's just that... after I came back from Afghanistan... I felt like if I didn't keep it up, everyone would... would think something happened.  So I kept going. But no, flirting's just... just part of my reputation." He paused, then said, "Y'know, before you were unfrozen, there was a big story in the news, that I slept with all of 2007's Maxim cover models.  So here's... a big secret. I only bagged five of the thirteen. The others, we just _said_ we banged.  It was good publicity for them, and for the magazine, and for me.  ...I'm not as bad as everything thinks." Tony paused, then added, "Well, maybe I am, I've had like, over a thousand partners.  But whatever." He paused, then added, "Actually I got two of the thirteen _after_ the story broke so really, I got seven out of thirteen, which is still pretty good.  ...but you know, when a woman starts bragging that I slept with her, I always go along with it.  ...what I'm saying is, as much of a cad as I am, my reputation is definitely... inflated. And I wanna be able to flirt and stuff but... Steve... I wouldn't ever actually cheat on you."

Tony looked down at the grid of tiny Styrofoam bits on his leg and brushed them to the floor.  "It's not like I've been out partying since you left. I haven't been seeing anyone or throwing crazy parties or anything," he added, a bit defensively.  He needn't have bothered. It was obvious just by looking at him that he'd been doing nothing but binge-drinking and wallowing. "I missed you. I just... it's not _you_ , Steve.  It's _me_ I can't stand."

He put his head in his hands, too tired to go on.  "I'm going to nap now," he said in a small voice. "Can I stay here, Steve?  Do you mind if I keep sitting with you? ...you don't have to take me back, I'm a terrible Alpha, I just... you have no idea, I'm so glad you're alive."

"I missed you too," Steve whispered and his gaze finally flitted back up to Tony's face. It felt good to hear Tony say it. Before it had felt like some screwed up waiting game when Steve kept getting stuck in his own thoughts, convincing himself that he wasn't good enough and that Tony was bound to go after one of those women someday. "It's why I moved around so much. It was easier to keep going forward...I didn't like thinking about what I'd left behind.  ...I went to see Peggy," he added. "She's still as sharp as ever. I'd like to visit her again, soon. I liked the UK. They have much better laws about equality over there. Although people wouldn't stop holding doors open for me."

Tony snorted softly.  He'd been taught to open doors for bonded omegas when he was a kid, too.

"Do you want the bed?" Steve asked. "All I've done for two days is sleep. I'll happily take the chair. I can just prop my foot up on the mattress." Tony looked about as terrible as he felt. They'd made a right state of themselves. Tony was so tired he was taking a while to answer. While he hesitated, a lump welled up in Steve's throat.

"I'm...I'm so sorry Tony. That I called them," he whispered. "I don't know why I did that. I think I'm a pretty terrible omega too."

Tony shook his head.  "You take the bed, Steve.  You heard the doc, you need your beauty sleep."  He stifled a yawn, then said, glibly, "if we're both so terrible then I guess we're a good match, huh?"  He gave Steve a hesitant smile.

"...you... you want to come home when you're all healed?"

Tony looked down, rubbing his palms on his knees.  He was thinking back to what Steve had said about his father hitting on him.  Did Steve ever look at Tony and see Howard? Was any element of Steve's attraction nostalgia for an Alpha he'd once known... an Alpha who had made advances, who had been universally adored as an icon of strength and dominance?

Tony felt a lump in his throat but didn't ask because he just didn't care.  The last two months had been so lonely and he missed having Steve around all the time to even out his life.  Without Steve and his regular sleep schedule, relatively healthy eating, exercise regime, and general care toward Tony, Tony had fallen back into every bad habit he had and gained a few others, and he was a mess.  He wanted to go back to the way they were the previous year: happy. Even if that meant being under constant scrutiny by the press, having his dominance constantly questioned, having a "misbehaving," uppity omega who liked to stir up trouble every other month.  Tony didn't care. He wanted Steve. He would march around the capital holding up a horseshoe flag if he had to.

Steve leaned back down but then winced as the sheets brushed against his sore neck. He turned around on his front, arms folded under the pillows. He turned his head on its side to look at Tony, his hair tufting up a little at the top. He smiled a little in return, looking sleepy.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Home sounds nice," he whispered. "I think we both need fattening up, anyway. And I have a lot of unfinished business in the US. Running off really wasn't such a good idea." His progress with omega rights couldn't have been good; he wasn't even sure they'd want him for the ads anymore. He wasn't offended, he understood; he hadn't exactly made a good example of himself, of an omega who needed an Alpha to function, who melted down the moment he'd been rejected. After Tony's rejection he'd gone AWOL and he was sure his critics had had a lot to say about that.

It was quiet for a moment. Steve suddenly looked sad.

"They tortured him. He was like a robot." He whispered. "He'd of walked off a cliff if they told him to. What he did wasn't good but I can't... I can't even be mad at him for it." Steve frowned, his gaze becoming distant. "It feels like a branding iron. And it doesn't feel like it's his. It feels like it's HYDRA."

"...Barnes?" said Tony.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  "...yeah. I know how it feels, I think.  ...I'm sorry." He swallowed. Knowing his own mark was replaced with the imprint of some other guy's mouth really bothered him.  "...can you feel him?" he asked tentatively. "I mean... the way you feel me. Before it was just... like... a memory of a dream. Is it... stronger now, that he re-bit you?"

It was hard for Tony to ask, but he wanted to be a better Alpha, and he couldn't just ignore the fact that Steve had another bond.  He was scared of Steve's answer. Scared that Steve would say that, yes, he could feel him, this other Alpha's hopes, thoughts, feelings... that he knew whatever dark and secretive plots Barnes was up to at the moment.

* * *

"Pietro!" cried Bucky with excitement, his face splitting into a grin.

They were in a store, one with bright lights that reflected on the tile floors and aisles and aisles of metal shelving with just about everything you could imagine.

"What, what is it?" asked Pietro, hurrying over.

Bucky pointed with delight.  There was a red spiral notebook with a black star on the cover.

Pietro's face fell.  "...oh... no... that's not the same book, James.  That's just a notebook for sale. Look, there's like ten of them."

Bucky reached for it with his good hand to flip it open eagerly.  It was blank. He turned the pages, searching for information. There was none.

"...this book is blank," he reported, his excitement falling.

Wanda walked over.  "Did you get everything we need?" she asked.  The two of them had gotten comfortable with shoplifting over the years; Pietro nodded while Bucky continued to leaf through the book, getting more and more upset.

"Why would anyone _pay_ for a blank book?" he demanded in frustration.  "It contains no information."

Wanda and Pietro shared a look.

"...you're supposed to fill it up with your own information," explained Wanda gently.  "Your own thoughts and ideas."

Bucky considered this.  "...like Steve's sketchbook," he said suddenly, a light clicking on somewhere behind his eyes.

"Yes, like a sketchbook," agreed Wanda.

"...do you want the notebook, James?  Maybe if you wrote stuff down, you'd get better at remembering it," suggested Pietro.  In a flash, the notebook had disappeared from Bucky's hands. "Let's get you one that's not red, though, okay?  Pick out one you like."

"...I like the red one."

"No, you only like that one because it reminds you of Karpov's book that he used to control you.  Pick a different one."

Bucky stared hopelessly at the array of spiral notebooks, unable to make a decision.  After a moment, he hesitantly pointed to the red one again.

"...how about just a plain black one?  Black goes with everything. And later you can get a different color, if you fill it up," said Pietro.

He and Wanda exchanged a look.  They had discussed, briefly, what the hell to do with Barnes.  He had taken the two of them to a motel and now the three were together.  Wanda and Pietro agreed they couldn't go back to HYDRA. They had gotten what they needed.  They knew Wanda could access Stark through Barnes, which was good enough for them. Besides, they both thought it was dangerous for them to stay any longer.  HYDRA's treatment of omegas, their inducing of a heat, and their casual treatment of people as pieces of equipment made both of them wary, mostly on Pietro's behalf.  But they had worried that having Bucky with them was a liability; Bucky sometimes acted like a child. Except he was a child in a man's body and had an arm capable of crushing other men's skulls.  He was unstable and dangerous. But he was their only chance to get to Stark and besides, they felt sorry for him.

They needn't have worried.  Bucky had resolutely insisted on staying with them.  Steve's orders had been clear: he was to go with the twins and stay away from HYDRA.

The three of them weren't clear on their next steps, but all agreed they needed to get out of the middle east and to the United States of America, where Steve and Stark were.  This was a surprisingly easy task. They waltzed through airports, showing envelopes with the word "BOARDING PASS" written on them in black marker, and with Wanda's help, agents smiled vapidly and let them board planes, thinking everything was fine.  She made them see passports where there were none, and when Bucky let off the metal detectors, she stepped in and the agent waved him through without even a cursory pat-down.

The process left Wanda exhausted; on the planes, she spent most of her time with her head on Pietro's shoulder, sleeping like she was dead.

Bucky was still not comfortable around her and mostly spoke to Pietro.  Steve had said that bonding meant trusting your omega when you had no one else.  Bucky had no one, but he had Pietro and Wanda, and Pietro was an omega, so he decided to take orders from Pietro until he was able to rendezvous with Steve.  Wanda was nicer to him and reassured him she wouldn't be breaking into his mind anytime soon, but he had no response.

"He's scared of me.  Everyone's scared of me," she said, miserably, staring at her hands in an airport terminal.

"I don't think he really feels fear like we do," said Pietro quietly.  "Don't take it personally. He doesn't know what's going on."

Wanda turned and looked over to Bucky, who was staring at a sign that suggested, _Why not try some delicious Greek yogurt?_

Bucky was staring at it with intense concentration, clearly trying to determine if this was a direct order and he should try some delicious Greek yogurt, or if it was an admonishment: Why _hadn't_ he yet tried Greek yogurt, which was delicious?

"...James.  Stop looking at the sign," called Pietro.

"I need to try some delicious Greek yogurt," said Bucky, turning.

"...no, you don't, James.  Remember, ads can't give orders."

Bucky looked instead at a board filled with ever-changing flight information.  He got excited when he saw Cleveland on the list, even though Pietro had already explained that Karpov's "retirement to Cleveland" was only a turn of phrase and that Karpov was probably not there.  ("It would be literally the stupidest place for him to go, since he told everyone he was going there," said Pietro. "That's the very last place we should look." Then Wanda had said, "Maybe we _should_ go there.  Keep him away from that guy.")

"Is there delicious Greek yogurt in Cleve--" began Bucky.

"James.  Write it in your notebook, okay?  Wanda and I are trying to make plans," said Pietro, without looking up.

Bucky obeyed.

* * *

"Honestly my neck hurts too much to feel other people's thoughts or emotions right now," Steve murmured. "And I don't know. Before... after HYDRA, I couldn't feel him even in the forties. It was like there was this empty space where a person had been. Even if I could technically feel him, that doesn't mean I'll actually _feel_ anything.  I'm not sure _he_ feels anything."

Steve looked sad. "In a week, then we'll know if we have to deal with this." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I wish I could remember. But all I can really recall is his programming failing and him remembering things, little fragments. He was so upset and confused. It was like he was a kid, or something."

Steve realized this was the most he'd ever spoken about Bucky to Tony, ever. It was like the band-aid had been ripped off. It was no longer an awkward topic to skirt around. It was bloody and bright on the back of Steve's neck.

Tony stared down at his fingers while Steve talked.  He had mixed emotions about Barnes. Instinct was telling him that this other Alpha was a threat to be reckoned with, and Tony's more conscious insecurities were glad that Bucky sounded so broken.  But he also felt some degree of sympathy. Not just for Barnes... for Steve, for whom Barnes was one of the only remnants of his past.

At last Tony couldn't be scared of Steve leaving him for Bucky now, now that they knew he was barely a person. He was broken. He was a shell. He needed therapy, and friends. Not a mate. Steve wasn't sure if he could ever be capable of that after what they'd done to him. And he certainly wasn't capable of consenting to anything more.

Like Steve hadn't been... he shuddered a little at the thought.

The last coherent thing he remembered was Bucky pawing against the glass after Karpov.

"Sleep? Let's sleep."

"Yeah," agreed Tony quietly.  "Sleep." He folded his arms over his chest, his chin down, listening to the steady beeping of Steve's heart monitor.  This was probably the most the two of them had ever talked about these serious issues: Tony's trauma, Steve's ex-mate, and Howard, the line that connected the two of them.

It infuriated Tony that, at his age, his father still influenced and affected him so greatly, but it couldn't be helped.  He'd grown up with his father trying to instill more dominance in him, something that, unfortunately, was an impossibility.  What Steve had said, about Bucky being ruined...

"...I didn't know about all that shit happening to Ty.  ...he tried to call me a few times. I didn't pick up, though.  I just... couldn't deal with it. ...when you come back, are you gonna keep doing all your omega rights stuff?

Steve's eyes had been closed. He hadn't really been trying to sleep but he'd figured just resting would be nice. And if he didn't at least look like he was sleeping then Tony was unlikely too. But then the other asked a question and Steve's eyes fluttered open again.

He looked over Tony's face for a moment. The beard really did make him look older. Steve always forgot he was forty.

"Yeah. And properly this time," Steve murmured. He had a steely sort of look in his eyes, one that Tony had seen many a time before. "I'm not really in the mood to be polite about it anymore."

He vaguely wondered if Tony had seen his interview. Steve barely remembered it himself; he'd felt pretty shaken up at the time. That had been the day before he left the US. Then he'd gone off the grid.

"And it's not too late with Ty, Tony... it's never too late."

Tony huffed a sigh.  He disagreed with Steve on that one.  It was too late to save Ty from getting shipped off to some fucked up torture camp where they'd cut out his bonding gland and who knows what else; Tony wondered if Ty smelled as eerie to other omegas as he did to Alphas.  He'd already asked Pepper, who had been surprised and said, no, of course she didn't sense anything wrong, how could she? Tony had struggled to explain to her what it smelled like but it had proved impossible because hormonal cues and pheromones were practically a sixth sense and Pepper, as a beta, had no way to even know what normal smells were like, how easily you could distinguish Alphas and omegas, how easily you could read hierarchies.

In any case, he didn't argue.  He didn't want to argue anymore.  He just wanted to hover around Steve protectively, like he should have been doing all this time to begin with.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, softly.  He felt like it was his fault, driving Steve to be reckless, and that, in turn, his fault for Steve ending up here with a forced bond mark on his neck.

 _Was it forced?_ a dark corner of his mind wondered.  He pushed that thought away. He didn't care how it had happened.  It had happened, it was over, and it never would have happened in the first place if Tony had been by his side, as he should have been, if he were being a good Alpha instead of a selfish jerk.

"Don't," Steve whispered. "Just sleep Tony. We don't have to deal with anything else right now."

He tried to offer him a smile. It was small but genuine. "It's not like either of us are going anywhere..."

Steve did manage to fall asleep. He didn't dream at all, thankfully. There was a strange ache in his chest when he woke and he felt a little sick. He reached over to the bedside blindly and grabbed the glass of water there, downing it in one. There was sandwiches left on the side in the corner and Tony was asleep on the chair.

And there was Fury, standing at the end of his bed, staring him down.

"Jesus," Steve nearly choked on his water. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Nick didn't say anything. He just continued to stare, his face unreadable. He'd never looked more intimidating.

"Look, I know you're mad at me-"

"Mad doesn't begin to cover it," Nick cut it in coolly. He glanced to Tony, still asleep, then back to Steve.

Steve suddenly felt like a school boy being scolded by his teacher.

"I don't need you tell me how big of a fuck up this is. I am very aware."

"Oh, really?  You're aware? You're aware that the World Security Council is probably going to end the Avengers' Initiative over this?  You're aware that, based on the psychologists' recommendation, you might be sent to a mental institution because we can't trust you won't try hurting yourself?  You're aware that, thanks to your mental breakdown over your mate's abandonment, you've threatened the jobs of every omega and every pair-bonded couple in the entire organization?  And that I've been awake for over seventy hours trying to minimize the damage you've caused, and that my insomnia is the only thing keeping Sam Wilson from being court-martialed, Agents Coulson and Barton fired, and Natasha Romanov executed for treason?  You know that Major General al-Ahmar of Yemen is threatening to declare war on us because your friends technically invaded his country and flew through a restricted airspace to get to you? You know that Ellis has been at the UN for the last twelve hours making apologies on your behalf, and you've completed discredited yourself to the press?  That's right, the press knows all about this. Kind of hard to keep under wraps that Captain America just surfaced for the first time in over a month and caused a massive international incident, all because his damned boyfriend left him."

Fury paused to take a breath.  He was truly living up to his name.

Tony still hadn't stirred, probably because he hadn't slept since they'd told him Steve was missing.  After four days awake and much of it in the suit, Tony probably wouldn't have woken if Fury had kicked the legs out from under his chair.  The room was still dark, but under his shirt, the arc reactor was providing some dim blue mood lightning that etched every deep crease and scar on Fury's face.

Fury looked over at Steve's flowers, glaring at them, voice softening to a dangerous level.  "...now you listen up, Captain. Listen real good. You better start planning out a strategy for damage control because right now, so help me God, I'm ready to put your ass right back into that iceberg where they found you.  Consider this talk your official warning. If you weren't as much of a beloved icon as you are, trust me, your ass would be locked up right now and the key would be melted down to make commemorative coins. You take whatever deal you get because I can tell you already that you're going to get a hell of a lot more leniency than you should and that you already have.  And you better have one hell of a speech prepared for the psychologist when she comes around here to interview you in a couple of hours. Any questions?"

"...will I ever be allowed back out on the field?"

Fury gave him a long hard look that pierced into his very being. Steve felt a chill run down his spine. Then Fury moved to turn away, wordlessly. That was his answer. Wonderful. And if Steve had thought he was feeling guilty earlier then it had nothing on how he was feeling now.

And his neck was throbbing.

"Crap," Steve whispered and leaned his head forward, bringing his hands up to rest his forehead against them.

Pair bond jobs being threatened he could deal with. But Yemen was bigger than him. And if anyone tried to execute any of his friends, especially Natasha, he would happily go rogue to save her. The mental institute thing though... Steve couldn't exactly argue with that. Oh, his ma would kill him if she could see him now.

And the press, too? Well this day was just getting better and better. Aria was going to _love_ to see him again.

And therapy was a test now. A test to prove he was, what...sane?

"It wasn't just because of Tony."

It felt good to just say it. Because the press probably wouldn't believe him anyway. Or the therapist.

Fury paused for a few seconds, hand on the door. And then he left.

The only visitor to Steve's room before the psychiatrist was a lone nurse, who came to change the bandages on the back of his neck.  The old bandages were soaked through with blood, and a thin yellow liquid that was probably a combination of pus and lymph, and a clear fluid that smell strongly of musk and heat and... well, _Steve_.  The nurse was a beta and was clearly unbothered by it.  Tony's body twitched a little in his sleep but he didn't wake.

Steve's neck was re-wrapped in cool, fresh bandages.  The nurse told him, gently, that there wasn't much they could do about the pain; they didn't want to use topical anesthetics because the wound had to be allowed to drain, and they couldn't risk making the infection worse, and besides, drugs worked completely differently on Steve because of the serum and now wasn't the time to try to figure out how much morphine to give Captain America.

Changing a simple bandage on the back of his neck was far more painful than it had any right to be. Steve had clenched his hands tightly in the sheets as the nurse had pulled the bandage back, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to let out a sound. After the display he'd just made it was time to toughen up.

When the psychiatrist finally came by, Steve was in a fair bit of discomfort.  Tony was still completely unconscious.

"Hi there, Captain Rogers," said the psychiatrist with a smile.  She was an Alpha, though not a particularly dominant one. She had long, straight, dark hair and a few freckles on her nose that Tony no doubt would have been drooling over if he was awake.  "I'm Doctor Brennan from the National Institute of Mental Health. I'm going to be accessing you over the next week, if that's alright. How are you feeling?"

She glanced over at Tony.  "...I'm just going to ask him to step out while we chat... excuse me... Mr. Stark?"

Tony didn't move.

She gave his shoulder a gentle shake, but Tony was comatose.  She frowned a little and said, louder, "...Mr. Stark?" She looked up at Steve.  "Is he always this deep of a sleeper?"

(The answer wasn't a simple one.  Tony was prone to crashing and sleeping like he was dead after a bout of work in the lab.  Steve had found him sprawled over the counters in the kitchen, on the pool deck, curled under desks, and bent in all sorts of unnatural positions, unable to wake.  On the other hand, when Tony fell asleep naturally, he was a light sleeper who often woke suddenly and violently, a consequence of PTSD.)

Dr. Brennan looked like she was a bit unsure how to proceed with Tony in the room.  Also, understandably, she looked a bit worried about him. Tony didn't resemble Tony much.  With the full beard (which still had some dried blood in it from Tony being punched in the face), and the glasses, and the stained, baggy clothes, Tony could have easily walked down the street and been unrecognized, so long as he covered the arc reactor.  Much of Tony's look dependent on confidence and swagger, which had evaporated after the scandal in January.

"You're not from SHIELD?" Steve asked, admittedly surprised. He'd expected one of those straight faced scientists from when he'd been seeing Bucky in simulations, or someone like them.. .not this woman. She looked approachable, calm, and seemed to be genuinely worried about Tony. Which was sweet.

"No," Brennan answered, his eyes not leaving Tony.

"He hasn't slept in days. You won't wake him. He's best left to it. He'll be knocked out for a while," Steve assured her, and the doctor finally tore her gaze away from his mate.

The doctor stepped back. "I suppose as long as you don't mind him being in here. Just this time. But after today I really think you'll get the best benefit possible from therapy if we do this one on one."

"Right," Steve said.

Doctor Brennan fixed him with a look. "So I'll ask again. How are you feeling?"

"Like I dragged a lot of people into a mess I have no means of getting them out of. So not great, admittedly."

She nodded.  "Understandable."  She reached into her small black purse and pulled out a recorder.  "Do you mind if I record this, Captain? This is for my own personal use and won't be shared.  If you prefer, I can take notes the old-fashioned way, but I'm a leftie and I always end up smearing lead all over my hand, so I prefer the recorder."

Steve stared at the recorder curiously. It seemed fair. Though he was sure that meant Fury and countless amounts of scientists would be listening to him later, all deciding if he was capable for the field or perhaps even sane. Fun.

"It's okay," he affirmed. Steve never liked it much when people too notes anyway. He'd always been trying to guess what the doctors were writing in the forties, when they prodded and poked at him- pre- _and_ post-serum. Steve had never liked the way they'd peer over their notepads at him; it always made him feel a little degraded.

Dr. Brennan seemed shockingly low-key after all of Fury's doom-filled statements about the state of affairs.  It was difficult, of course, to really know what was happening on the outside. Steve's room didn't have a television or a radio or even a newspaper for him to read; that was probably on purpose.

"Is that your main regret?  That your actions affected others?  Because they certainly affected you as well."  It was unclear if she meant Steve being in trouble with SHIELD or if she was referring to the bite on his neck.  Because she was an Alpha, there was no doubt in Steve's mind that she could smell the fresh mark. Of course, even if she were a beta, Steve's records had probably already been shared with her.  She likely knew more about Steve's condition than he did.

"I don't think I was really concerned about how my actions would affect myself at the time, else I wouldn't have done it," Steve pointed out quietly.

The doctor tilted her head at him slowly.

"And what about now?"

Steve just shrugged. "As stupid as it sounds, I didn't intend to upset anyone. At least..." His gaze drifted over to Tony's unconscious form. "Not like this."

Dr. Brennan followed Steve's gaze over to Tony, then she looked back at Steve.

" _You_ , Steve," she said pointedly.  "I'd like to talk about how your actions have affected _you,_ and how _you_ feel right now.  What were your intentions when you went to Siberia and called HYDRA?  What's your take right now on the consequences _you_ have faced?"

"I deserved everything I got in there. I brought it entirely on myself and I take full responsibility for it," Steve said calmly, hyperly aware that that beeping sound was his heart rate. And if he got stressed or nervous his heart rate would make it glaringly obvious. "I guess I just called HYDRA because I... could?"

Steve blinked, seeming surprised at himself and Brennan watched him curiously.

"I think Fury's been nice, considering. We don't have a good track record. I think he's pretty exasperated with me. Maybe I'm not worth quite all the effort he's gone to, to get me here."

The room was strangely quiet.  There was no music, no sounds at all; the walls were thick and Steve couldn't hear anything outside or in the hallway.  The only sounds were the heart monitor and Tony's slow, soft, even breathing. Dr. Brennan's voice was calm and even and soothing, but her gaze was fixed on Steve.  Clearly, Steve's tendency to think about others wasn't something she was thrilled about currently.

"Well, I would say that sending you undercover to an old friend's son's business was asking for you to have a breakdown or some kind of... misstep. Dying isn't good for your mental health, not just your physical. While yes, you are responsible for your actions...so are SHIELD.  Your first placement was ill-advised."

Steve paused. He hadn't been expecting that.

"...what are your plans for the future?  With regard to your career, and your relationships?" asked Dr. Brennan

Steve sighed. "I think I'm going to focus more on my charity. And maybe start actually asking for things, rather than just raising 'awareness.' Don't think that really did any good... I think it just made me _feel_ like I was doing good."

"What were you hoping to accomplish, exactly?  You said you felt untouchable. Does that mean you didn't think you were in danger?  What was the goal you had in mind when you called HYDRA?"

"I was prepared to fight for HYDRA. So I guess I didn't feel in danger...but they sent these kids. I like them. They're not HYDRA. I wasn't prepared to fight them. I should have known they'd send them but I didn't think. I think I just wanted a fight. And I didn't get one," Steve breathed. "I was in a pretty self-destructive mood, I guess. But I imagine that's pretty normal when you've sort of died once already."

Brennan smiled a little tightly at him.

Steve  looked over at the sleeping Alpha beside him.  "Tony's been home for almost a year now.  After this I think I just wanna go home.  Dying and waking back up makes you feel like you're untouchable.   But you're not.  I learnt that the hard way."

Another pause, and then, "...'going home,' would that be going home to Tony, or elsewhere?  Do you think living with Tony is a particularly stable environment? Do you have any resources in place to help you if you and him have another dispute?"

She didn't need to point out that Tony, despite his snarky posturing in public, was someone who had been deeply affected by his experience in Afghanistan.  Steve knew it better than anyone. During the year they'd lived together, he'd witnessed things that only a precious few were privy to: the panic attacks and the night terrors, the occasional off-hand remark, the drinking.  Tony's intelligence made him remarkably good at masking his trauma, but it came out in strange ways, and living with him, the patterns resolved clear and bright and unmistakable, like a picture suddenly jumping out from one of those "hidden eye" images that initially looks like static.  Once seen, it was impossible to miss.

In Steve's absence, Tony had finally given in to all of his worst habits.  Since his capture, Tony's relationships had been short and especially fractured, and Steve could now say with some certainty that that was a deliberate attempt on Tony's part.  Tony had no interest in letting anyone get close to him, which, considering Stane's betrayal, was perfectly understandable. Bonding Steve had created a vulnerability as constant and as obvious as the glowing reactor set into the middle of his chest; when things had gone south, Tony had collapsed in on himself, unable to cope with it.

Dr. Brennan was nodding slowly, thoughtfully.  "A break from SHIELD would probably be a good idea.  And focusing on your charity work sounds very fulfilling."  She gave Steve a small smile that was a little crooked. "You know Irshad Nazari of the World Omega Rights Council?  She's fighting for you. And so are the Walkers. The Horseshoe Society is lobbying hard to get you and your friends pardoned."  

"I liked Irshad when I met her. She knew I'd had a miscarriage and put her hand on my arm and told me I was brace. No else did," Steve said quietly, gaze growing a little distant at the memory. That had been the day everything had gone to shit.

Dr. Brennan looked over at Tony thoughtfully.

"Steve?  Have you... thought at all about the possibility that this new bond may be permanent?"  A pause, then Dr. Brennan corrected herself: "... _re_ -newed.  Have you and Tony discussed that yet?"

"Home is with Tony. Or it was. But Tony says he wants me anyway. Whether he can handle me is another matter entirely."

Steve fidgeted with his hands a little. He felt an itch to draw all of a sudden. He remembered his sketchbook he'd left in his hotel; had they taken it? He frowned at the thought.

"If it is permanent it means Bucky can find me and so can HYDRA and  I'll be pretty screwed..." Steve shrugged. "But like I said. I did this. I'll deal."

"...Bucky was your mate before Tony," pointed out Dr. Brennan quietly.  "Do you want him to find you? If he does, what's your plan for... dealing, as you put it?"

At the heart of every question, Steve knew, was the unspoken crux of the matter: Was Steve safe?  Could he be trusted? Would anything like this happen again? Considering the mess they found themselves in, these were valid concerns.  It was a bit ironic, since as far as any of them having a meltdown and inadvertently causing a massive international crisis, Steve was probably far, far behind Tony in the probability rankings.  As Iron Man, Tony regularly violated international borders and sovereign airspace. But because his actions had never affected civilians and because Tony greased the political cogs with obscene amounts of money, people had turned a blind eye.  Besides, the fact of the matter was, Tony had managed to bring some stability to a very unstable region. Shortly before Steve's assignment to Tony, he'd watched the news, watching as Tony cockily proclaimed that he'd successfully privatized world peace, all while holding up his signature peace sign, grinning cheekily at the cameras while people cheered for him.

That man had resembled Steve's memory of Howard much more than the Tony he had come to know.  In his personal life, Tony was anything but sure of himself. Steve had come to appreciate that Tony's posturing was as much to convince himself of his derring-do as it was to convince the press.

"I don't want HYDRA to find me, so I guess no....in that case I don't want him to find me," Steve said quietly. He saw no point in lying or trying to lie. "But if he wasn't with HYDRA I don't know how I'd feel," he admitted. If he wasn't safe for active duty then he didn't want to be put on it. Steve didn't have a right to put anymore lives at risk. What if one of the team had gotten badly hurt in his rescue mission? How would he feel then?

"But if he _was_ working with or for HYDRA, then I'd fight him. Like I did before. And if I can somehow help him, then...well, Bucky needs help. He doesn't need a mate. He's not even a person, not the man I spoke to. They fucked with his head. They did things they had no right to do. And however attached he was to me I assure you he was far more attached to his _handler_ , that Karpov guy. He pined after him like a puppy. It was depressing to see."

Steve sighed. He thought back to the way he used to fawn over Bucky in the forties on the good days. He thought he was his world. He thought he was amazing...it was usually in pre-heats. Before the frustration kicked in Bucky used to _glow_ and Steve couldn't think of any more lovable person in existence.

"I've experienced a lot with Tony that I never did with Bucky. I care about Bucky, he meant a lot to me...he still does. But the relationships aren't comparable."

"Hmm," said Dr. Brennan thoughtfully.  Her pager went off suddenly before she could follow up her hum with anything substantial.  She checked it. "Steve, I'm very sorry, but I've been called away on an urgent matter. I'd like to continue this discussion on a daily basis for the next week, at the end of which I'll share with you my recommendations.  You understand that, while what is said in here is confidential and protected by HIPAA law, if I think you're going to hurt yourself or endanger anyone else, I will have to say something... and that at the end of our time together, I do have to advise SHIELD and the DoD about what's to be done with you."

She stood and offered Steve a hand to shake.  It was unclear if they (whoever "they" were... the government?) had sent Dr. Brennan to Steve because she was an Alpha and they were trying to unnerve him, or whether it was the simply luck of the draw.  In either case, Dr. Brennan didn't seem at all intimidating and she treated Steve just as respectfully as she would have a beta.

She walked out of the room and, less than a few moments later, Dr. Gleason walked in, a newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Good morning, Steve," he chirped.  "...that session didn't last nearly as long as I'd expected.  I was waiting in the hall and I didn't get to finish the paper... but I thought you might need some entertainment more than me."  He passed Steve the newspaper.

The headline jumped out at him: WORC AND HORSESHOE SOCIETY LOBBY FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA'S RELEASE.  Below that, the article continued:

_In light of recent news that the reclusive Captain Steve Rogers, whereabouts unknown since January, has been extradited from Yemen and is currently being held by the United States government, there has been a public outcry for his release and pardon.  Heading the movement are prominent diplomats Irshad Nazari, as well as activists Brent and Jeffrey Walker. "Illegal detention of an American citizen, no less Captain America, is at best embarrassing for our country and, at worst, a crime against humanity," said Brent Walker in a briefing.  "The Supreme Court has a long history of protecting people's rights with regards to sacred unions such as marriage, pair-bonds, and parent-child relationships. In the case of Leopold v. The People, spousal privilege was extended to pair-bonded mates. We don't condone Steve Rogers's or Tony Stark's actions, but we request leniency because of the circumstances.  You have a veteran and a POW, respectively, who were acting without thinking because of love for their mate, and in the end, no permanent harm was done. We shouldn't criminalize them for acting out of passion; this was not a well thought-out action, designed to undermine international law. This was a recently pair-bonded couple that was acting out of self-interest and was being mercilessly assaulted by the media at the time."  Brent Walker has agreed to act as the defense lawyer for Stark and Rogers, adding that he would gladly represent other agents involved. Meanwhile, the CFO and personal assistant of Tony Stark, Virginia Potts, has likewise mobilized a team of lawyers to Washington, where they have been working tirelessly to get all agents involved in the Yemen incident pardoned. How many agents were involved has not been confirmed, though inside sources have indicted that it was less than a dozen and all were acting outside of SHIELD orders.  The raid conducted on Yemen two days' ago was met with international protest at the illegal invasion and what some have called an act of war, but the American people have stood by Captain America and have continued to demand his release. President Ellis was unavailable for comment._

"They still love you," said Dr. Gleason with a wry smile.  "...let's take a look at your neck, then, shall we?" He leaned Steve forward while Steve read over the newspaper.  "...Brent Walker really is a magnificent person. He's one of the few Alphas on the Horseshoe Society's council. ...he's a damned good lawyer, too.  You're lucky to have him. Let's see, here..." He pulled back the white bandage and Steve heard a soft hiss. "Well, this certainly doesn't look very comfortable.  I think we should probably aspirate some of the fluid here... your gland is working overtime and it's producing quite a bit of musk..." A pause. Dr Gleason leaned over to look at Steve.  "I'm sorry. I know that you were born before the discovery of the arvicolina. The gland produces a serum that's full of hormones and pheromones, and it's most active during heats and pregnancies and after bonding.  Due to your body's... rather unusual operations and metabolism, it's gotten a bit swollen with that fluid and I think we need to drain it. Besides, it's infected and I don't want any of that bacteria swimming around in there."  He bent down to retrieve a syringe from his bag.

Steve's hands were shaking as he read the newspaper article. His throat was welling up and his eyes were watering. Fuck. He sniffed and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't deserve this. They were so good to him. Jesus, he just thought he'd fucked over his entire image as an independent and strong omega. But here they societies were...working together and for him. Something warmed in Steve's chest and he felt incredibly emotional. He looked over to Tony who was still asleep and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe...maybe it would be okay. _Maybe_.

"They're such good people," Steve whispered.

"They are," Gleason hummed, returning to his side with a rather menacing-looking syringe. Steve hadn't admittedly taken in everything that he'd said. He'd been too caught up in the article, his eyes a little red around the edges. All he grasped was that that syringe was going into the back of his neck.

"Right. Three, two, one..."

"Fucking _hell_!" Steve winced as the needle pierced the gland. It _burned_. His hands fisted in the sheets again and his eyes screwed shut. His eyes were watering again for entirely different reasons. The pain got worse as Gleason drew the excess liquid out of the wound and Steve let out a strangled sound.

"This is... t-this is normal?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Everyone's different," said Dr. Gleason tactfully, pulling away.  The large syringe was filled with a pink-tinged fluid that smelled strongly.  It wasn't exactly a bad smell but it was incredibly familiar to Steve. It was... _him_.  "It's rare for the gland to really swell up like that.  Though it does happen, especially after... well... for lack of a better term, forced bondings."  He walked over to a sink on the wall and squirted out the fluid into it.

Tony jerked away, nose up before his eyes were even open.

"Steve?!" he exclaimed, looking around wildly.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark."

Tony rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up momentarily, then blinked, stifling a yawn.  His brow furrowed. "Are you... are you in heat?"

"No, we're just draining his arvicolina," said Gleason pleasantly.

"Definitely not in heat," Steve mumbled, his neck still throbbing. He watched Gleason push it into the sink and grimaced at the sound it made.

Tony wobbled to his feet uncertainly and peered over at the sink.  His stomach flopped. "Ew," he said without meaning to.

Gleason laughed.  "Oh, hush. This serum was in your mouth the first time you bit him, you know."

Tony stared in horror, but yeah, that was right.  When he'd bonded Steve he'd bitten down, hard, and he'd definitely had something squirt into his mouth.  ...that actually grossed him out even more.

"...you could bottle that stuff and sell it for like a million dollars on eBay.  Eau de Steve," said Tony, still watching from a distance.

"Did you know omegas had twice as many scent glands in their necks than Alphas?" said Dr. Gleason conversationally.

"I didn't know I had scent glands in my neck at all."

"Oh, yes.  Behind the ears.  It's how we tell who's what, and dominance hierarchies, and all that.  Ready for round 2, Captain? There's still quite a lot of serum in there."

Tony peeked around to look at Steve's neck and cringed noticeably.  "Fuckin' Sagan, it looks like a tennis ball on the back of your neck, Steve."

The look on Tony's face when he saw his neck certainly didn't make Steve feel any better. "Wonderful," Steve breathed and moved to sit forward properly, his hands in his lap.  "Round 2. Let's do it," Steve grunted.

The lump on the back of his neck got noticeably smaller each time Gleason drained it. It killed each time. Steve didn't exactly know when it happened but at some point he was gripping Tony's hand. He wasn't aware of little else but his mate's touch and the pain. His neck burned so much a few tears streaked down his cheeks.  He wiped them away hastily, embarrassed.

Tony didn't consider himself squeamish, but there was a reason he was an engineer and not a biologist.  Steve's smell was strong and it made Tony feel strangely aroused and sleepy at the same time. It tapped into the same primal part of his brain that bristled at Alphas who looked at Steve a certain way.

"That's the last of it," Gleason said softly, after the fifth time. "Well done Steve."

Steve let out a shaky breath, his cheeks wet and face a little pale. "Why does it hurt so much?" he croaked.

But, smell aside, watching Gleason drain the back of Steve's neck made Tony's stomach turn, especially the noise of the fluid being poured down the drain and the way Steve was going gray and clammy.  At some point, without realizing it, Tony offered Steve his hand, and Steve gripped it desperately, eyes watering, teeth gritted.

"It hurts because, first and foremost, it's infected.  The bonding gland is sensitive and infections of this magnitude are very serious indeed.  Aside from that... your body is trying to reject the bond. Excessive serum production is the body's attempt to, you might say... wash out the gland."

Tony perked up a little.  "So... the bond that... that Barnes left, that's gonna go away?"

Gleason frowned a little.  "Well, no, not necessarily.  We won't know until it heals.  It might heal with his mark, might heal with yours.  Might mix the two. Might just end up as one big mess of scar tissue.  The back of the neck isn't designed to be bitten by more than one Alpha, so it's hard to say what Steve's body will do."

"He'll choose me," said Tony, hopefully.

"Not a conscious choice, Mr. Stark.  ...I'm sorry to say that, usually, the more dominant Alpha's mark is the one that the body accepts.  Even in cases of forced bonding."

Tony's face fell.  Gleason may have never met Barnes, but you didn't have to be a fucking genius to know that he was probably more dominant than Tony was.  Pretty much all Alphas were. Early in his life, he'd used to wish he were a beta. Betas, his nannies had explained (both were betas themselves) couldn't detect hierarchies, and at the time, that had sounded wonderful to Tony.  His father was so overwhelmingly, terrifyingly dominant, and so was Obie, and try as he might, Tony could never live up to that. The scent he produced was, after all, simply part of him. His father slapped him around, called him a sissy when he drank, tried to toughen him up... all of it to no avail, because Tony was what he was, and nothing could change that.  He'd long since come to accept it and, being who he was as an adult, rarely cared anymore, because he was still rich, powerful, intelligent, and good-looking, and status was less important when you were all those other things. Besides, at least he wasn't an omega.

"...it's okay," said Tony quietly, looking down and squeezing Steve's hand.  "Even if it's _his_ mark.  ...I just don't want to lose you again."

"What makes my body try to reject it?" Steve asked quietly. "I don't even remember it happening."

"If a bond is not... consummated, as such." Gleason said, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. "The body will often try to reject it, especially if another bond is already present."

Steve thought back to his first ever bond. He'd gotten a fever a few days later but it was winter and fevers were normal for him. Bucky had still convinced himself that it was his fault, however. That this was his doing because of the bond...Steve had thought he was stupid for thinking so, but maybe now he'd been right. Maybe because they'd never had sex his body had tried to push it away. But he'd been so weak back then- there was no way he could have gotten rid of it. The fever had been bad, but not the worst. Steve hadn't nearly died or anything, which was good for him back then.

He watched Tony's face fall at Gleason's admission and Steve's own heart sank.

He stared down at their intertwined fingers. Tony's hand was a little pink from where Steve had been squeezing it. The touch was subtle and simple but it made an electric tingle run up his arm. He almost felt light-headed.

"It's not _his_. It's _theirs,_ " Steve said quietly and his eyes glazed over with a strange sense of fury. Maybe if it had been done by Bucky and only Bucky, it would have been different (Steve would certainly be more angry at _him_.) But this was HYDRA's doing. They were the ones who sent Steve into heat, made him go crazy and ordered Bucky to do it.

"The media are going to go mental when they see it," he whispered, head hanging low. "And they...t-they have no right to know what happened."

"So don't tell them," Gleason said.

"But if I don't they'll think I'm in a goddamn triad!" Steve snapped, hands moving up to fist in his hair. He calmed almost instantly. "Sorry. Shit. David, I didn't-"

"It's okay Steve," he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Why don't I get you a cup of tea, yeah? Something warm will make you feel better."

"...you can always wear scarves," suggested Tony softly as Dr. Gleason rose to get Steve a cup of tea.  "Or tell them that it's a remnant from your old bond but we're still just a pair, not a trio." He looked down.  "...or..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and his voice cracked a little. "...or you could just say, yeah, it's a trio, so what?  ...everyone would think that would be real ballsy for an omega. They'd attack me, not you. It wouldn't put back omega rights at all if you said that.  It would just make me look..." Tony trailed off. _Like a weak Alpha.  Like a cuckold._

His thumb ran over Steve's knuckles slowly, hypnotically.  Tony's gaze was distant; Steve could see his mind was working furiously beneath the surface.

"I don't _want_ them to attack you." Steve said, his voice still a little thick with emotion. "I just want them to leave us alone and stop trying to undermine us at every goddamn turn. It will upset you if they think we're in a trio so it will upset me, okay? I'm tough as nails regardless of the Alphas in my life. I fought Nazis! I don't need anything else to convince them."

There was a quiver in his voice and the old Captain America was in the room for a brief second, a glint in his eyes... but then he was gone and he was plain old Steve Rogers again.

"Steve, I gotta tell you something," said Tony quietly, taking a deep, shaky breath.  "I didn't wanna but... but it's not fair that you don't know. Barnes-- Bucky-- whatever his fucking name is-- he loved you.  He really did. Sometimes I can feel him, like I can feel you. And you always complain about how he didn't really and how he just... treated you shitty... and I'm not saying he didn't, but... he loved you so much.  He _wanted_ to mate you.  You have no idea.  He put himself through hell not to, just because he was scared of hurting you, and because he made a promise that he wasn't willing to break."  Tony was still staring off into the middle distance it was too hard to face Steve right now. "I love you. And I wanted to be the only one with that right.  I wanted to be your only mate. But I'm not, and I don't even care, Steve, because these last two months have been some of the worst in my entire life. I mean, not quite as bad as Afghanistan, but definitely in the top ten.  And I would rather share you than lose you completely. And you deserve to know that even if he was an ignorant asshole, like me, well... he loved you, Steve."

Tony huffed a little.  It hurt to say, so badly, but now it was said.  And he felt better that he was no longer burdened by it.

He looked up finally and did what he did best: made a joke.  "...I guess ignorant, arrogant dicks are your type, huh?" he said, often Steve a weak smile.  As usual, the crow's feet around his eyes appeared, and combined with the beard and glasses, the age gap between him and Steve was exceedingly obvious.

What Tony had said shocked Steve. Not that Bucky had loved him, but that Tony could feel that. It was almost eerie.

And then Steve was crying silently; tears fell and slipped over the curves of his cheeks without inhibition. Steve sniffed and reached up to dry his cheeks with his sleeves. "Tony. It's okay. It's okay."  He could see the other watching him with wide, worried eyes. Steve offered him the saddest of smiles. "I _knew_ he loved me. He just... wasn't the best at always showing it, I guess. But it's so much easier to hate someone than to miss them, you know? And I missed him so much..."

Steve's voice broke a little.

"And I thought maybe... maybe he was still alive. But that man I met in there wasn't Bucky. I don't know what he was, but Bucky, the Bucky _I_ knew... he's not there anymore.  He made a promise. And he never, _never_ would have done this to me. And he never would have tried to..."

He remembered what Natasha said. About finding Bucky trying to...

Steve's shoulders shook. His neck throbbed as he ducked his head down again, screwing his eyes shut as hot tears balled up around his eyes. God, why was he crying? He wasn't a child. He was a grown-ass man.

And he had done this to himself.

"Heck," Steve whispered.

Tony watched Steve cry, uncertain of his new role as... what?  He was still Steve's Alpha. But not his primary Alpha, probably.  And after two months of ignoring each other, Tony felt like the best approach was a delicate one.

"Steve?  ...can I... you mind if I climb into bed with you?" asked Tony tentatively.  Even though all evidence pointed to Steve not having been raped, the bite on the back of his neck might as well have been the same thing, and Tony didn't know how much contact Steve wanted right now.  Tony desperately wanted to hold him but he didn't feel like he had much right to demand cuddles after what he'd put Steve through. This was his fault, after all, pushing Steve away until he finally cracked.

In a way, Tony felt that the mark on Steve's neck was a punishment to him for being such a shit Alpha.  And he was willing to accept that and move on. He kept reminding himself that Steve was alive and they were talking again and that was all that mattered.

He didn't know what Steve was about to say but he could guess and it turned his stomach.  Bucky, that fucking specter in their life. The one that Steve loved and also wanted to kill... Tony remembered, vaguely, promising Steve to kill him during Steve's heat.  Now he didn't know. Bucky sounded like a very broken individual. Worse, Tony was bonded to him by proxy, and worse still, Tony knew he loved Steve and that, deep down, Steve loved him back.  Or at least, loved whatever was left of him, which didn't sound like much.

He brought Steve's hand up and kissed the back of it, softly.  "I'm not going anywhere, omega," he said quietly, reassuring. And he meant it.


	37. The Aftermath of Yemen

"Where are we going now?" asked Bucky.  They were in an airport terminal in France.  Pietro was watching the news, trying to figure out what was going on.  There was a lot of talk about _Capitaine Amérique_.  Unfortunately, Pietro did not speak French.

"I don't know.  Hopefully America," said Pietro, crossing his arms.  He looked down. Wanda had passed out on the floor, legs splayed out in front of her, chin dropped down onto her chest; her hair was a mess.  "...psionics takes a lot of energy. She's going to be out for a while. We can't go anywhere until she's up for more."

Bucky looked around with interest.  "Can we go to Cleveland?"

Pietro sighed, trying not to look irritated.  Bucky was obsessed with the idea of Cleveland, even though it had been explained to him, over and over, that Karpov was not there.

"We're going to go to New York, or maybe Los Angeles, or maybe Washington.  Those are the best places to find Stark and Rogers."

"And then Cleveland?"

"James.  Karpov left you.  You're not a person to him.  You're just... equipment. You understand?  He treats you like..." Pietro got a stormy look on his face.  "...he treats you like an omega. He treats you the way people have treated me all my life.  The way Stark probably treats Rogers. ...you're too good for him, Jimmy."

Wanda had broached the topic, once again, of ditching Barnes.  Pietro felt terribly conflicted about it. One one hand, yes, Barnes was a massive liability.  He was like an overgrown child. He was mentally unbalanced, and the twins were starting to grind their teeth every time they heard him talk about Karpov, which was easily ten times a day, if not more.  He was yet another body Wanda had to move through security lines, which drained her energy, and his arm was easily identifiable. Pietro had gotten him to wear a sweatshirt but keeping him in it was another matter.  On the other hand, though, they had to admit that Barnes was an exceedingly powerful ally. He was trained as a sniper and his martial skills were second to none. He obeyed direct commands willingly and readily, and, perhaps most important, he had a bond to Steve, who had a bond to Tony, who was the twins' target in the first place.

Perhaps they might have ditched him but there was another factor.  They felt sorry for him. When he wasn't buzzing around asking questions and trying to obey orders from televisions, he sometimes sat on the ground, brooding, lost in his fractured thoughts, writing down half-memories in his notebook.  Pietro had snuck a look and it had nearly broken his heart. Memories of war, of his childhood, and, most prominently, memories of his time with Karpov. Memories of murder. Memories of standing for long periods of time in the snow, until his fingers had frozen to his gun, motionless, waiting for a target that would never come.  Memories of holding dying men in his arms while they gasped for their mothers and he waited as the medic fumbled for morphine. Memories of killing entire families, one by one, while they begged for mercy, not for themselves, but for their siblings and their children. And punctuating it, the broken attempts to make sense of it all:

_Rejection makes people sad.  They fear rejection because they don't want to be sad.  But people don't fear sadness?_

_Bonding means trusting an omega when you have nobody else._

_(Pietro = omega??)_

_Till the end of the line._

_Trains._

_Freight car.  Freight car. Freight car._

_Tetanus vaccine, 1941... expired?_

_You can_ _choose_ _one thing if there are many alternatives.  You_ _choose_ _which one.  Not the red one._

_Antioxidant "superfoods" for memory: salmon, avocados, walnuts, plums_

_(delicious Greek yogurt?)_

* * *

When Tony told Steve that he wasn't going anywhere, there was a weird sensation in his chest, something like hope. His fingers tingled when Tony kissed his hand and Steve's brow furrowed a little in thought. Then, wordlessly, he entangled their fingers and pulled him up onto the bed.

Steve looked down at Tony with red rimmed eyes and blurry vision. He rubbed a hand over his face, then his eyes. He sniffed softly. "I don't usually cry so easy," he whispered. Neither of them mentioned that he'd hardly cried over something small.

There was still a lump in his throat but the tears had stopped falling, thankfully.

They ended up with Tony against the headboard so Steve could lean his head against his chest. He still didn't say anything. Tony was warm and firm and he smelt like home. Also, right now, he smelt like cheap coffee and maybe a faint hint of whiskey on his clothes. Steve let his eyes slip shut and buried his face against Tony's chest. He felt safer than he had in about a week. He felt grounded and steady and _whole_. He soon went slack against him as he fell asleep. For some reason crying made Steve tired.

Gleason reappeared with two steaming cups of tea. He stared at Tony and Steve, and almost smiled before he moved to set the tea by the bedside. "I'll come back same time tomorrow. And if he gets a fever you call me straight away, yes?"

A group of nurses walked past in the corridor. They were chatting amongst themselves; they quieted when they glanced in and saw Steve's sleeping form.  Tony glared back protectively, arms wrapped around his omega.

Gleason sighed. "This happened to my brother, Mr. Stark," he admitted in a whisper. "It's been many years now and he'svery  much recovered. But I'll tell you this: the most important thing-- without a doubt-- is not to let him think it's his fault.  ...you should try to get some rest, too."

And with that Gleason left.

Tony stared after Gleason, mulling over what he'd said.  What were the chances?

Tony's stomach turned yet again and he realized that David Gleason was in his fifties; he'd probably been born in the sixties, during the very first civil rights movements for omegas.  That his brother might well have been forced-bonded as part of a completely legal ceremony. That Boswell's casual description of his bonding ceremony to Banksy ("He cried the whole time.") was something much more sinister.

Tony leaned down to nose Steve's hair.

The back of Steve's neck didn't resemble his bonding mark, nor any bonding mark Tony had ever seen.  It was currently just a giant red swollen mess. Tony had already prepared himself for the worst and he couldn't say he blamed Steve at all for what had happened.  It almost seemed inevitable, with the way Tony was.

"Steve, drink some tea," he murmured, giving Steve's limp body a shake.  Steve was out cold.

A nurse walked in to change Steve's IV bag; she smiled a little at Tony.  Tony stared back at her. She was pretty and in other circumstances Tony certainly would have flirted with her.  Guilt was coursing through him.

He set his cheek on top of Steve's head, trying his best not to accidentally touch the back of Steve's neck, and closed his eyes, falling back into a deep sleep, his arms around his mate.

They dozed most of the day away. Steve only woke when they brought in a hospital dinner. It was some sort of lasagna. The meat was processed and the vegetables watery but it was warm and filling and that was all Steve really cared about. It felt so good to eat proper food again after eating nothing for so many days and then being on a drip. They drank their tea cold after. It was still sweet.

Steve fell back asleep almost instantly, all of his energy being put into fighting the infection.  After all, they hadn't given him any antibiotics; there was doubts about the kind of dosage he would need, how he would react, and if it was worth the risk.  Captain America was the only one like him.  In the end, they agreed to let the serum do its job and not intervene unless his condition worsened.

A nurse came and changed the bandages at the back of his neck, getting Tony to gently help her turn him over (with some difficulty) so she could reach. Steve didn't even wake, which either meant he was very out of it, or the pain was receding.

He woke around six in the morning feeling more awake than he had in over a week. Tony was asleep on the chair (he probably didn't want to join Steve again without permission). The room was almost silent. Steve could hear the distant buzz of traffic outside and smiled to himself before letting out a yawn. His neck _ached_ but it no longer burned in the same way it had before. He reached up tentatively to feel the skin around the bandage; it was no longer hot like it had been before.

The magic of the super serum.

Steve pulled out his drip with a degree of caution, making sure he wouldn't bleed everywhere before he went to go take a pee. A nurse on night shift spotted him and offered to put a plastic cover over his neck so he could shower and Steve could have kissed her.

The shower was _amazing_. It felt so good to clean his hair, for starters, and the pungent smell of the shampoo got rid of the smell of antiseptic that seemed to follow him everywhere. He had to dress back in the same clothes-- a loose, starched hospital gown-- but being clean underneath made it _so_ much better. All the sweat and tears had been washed away and Steve almost felt like a new man.

Tony was still asleep when he got back to his hospital room. The last thing he could do was sleep right now so, gently, he picked up an unconscious Tony and tucked him into the bed before taking a seat in the chair across. Steve propped his feet up on the edge of the  mattress. He grabbed the newspaper and began to read, catching up on more of the news he'd missed. He wished he could have access to a phone or a tablet. Tony's phone (on the bedside table) was dead and Steve wasn't sure if he could ask one of the nurses to access a computer. He didn't want to put them in an awkward situation; he was sure Nick will have left strict instructions.

It took him a few hours to read the paper; he worked through it slowly, taking time to consider each piece. By the time he'd finished it the sun had risen in the sky, bleeding out a pink hue that peeked through cotton clouds. Steve stared out the window, transfixed by the view for a brief moment. Then he heard the door open and recognized the scent as Dr. Brennan. She was quite distinctive.

"You're early," he commented, watching a sharp raw of sunlight burst out from behind a cloud.

Dr. Brennan smiled.  "You're awake and, I have to say, looking much better."  She glanced at Tony, snuggled up in Steve's bed, arms around his pillow.  "...I hope he didn't kick you out of your own bed. How do you feel this morning?"

She settled down on the end of the bed, since there was only one chair in the room.  Tony barely stirred; he nosed the pillow a little. Despite all the bandage changes, some of Steve's neck had dripped onto the pillow; he could smell it.  And even a beta probably could have guessed by the way Tony was clutching it to him. Earlier, in his sleep, he'd been mouthing at it. It was sweet, in a sort of disgusting way.

"He didn't," Steve assured with her with a wry smile, watching Tony clutch at the pillow with a fond sense of amusement. "And yes, much better. My head doesn't feel like it's going to fall off anymore."

Dr. Brennan pulled the tape recorder out of her purse and set it on the bed.  Tony mumbled something about multi-meters in his sleep.

Steve watched her set down the recorder. He felt indifferent towards it.

"Steve, I'd like to apologize again about my very abrupt departure yesterday.  That was unfair. I'd like to pick up where we left off. ...yesterday, you seemed to mostly be concerned with others, but I'd like to talk about _you_ .  During the course of your life you've had some very traumatic things happen and I'm concerned that your tendency to worry about your friends is a mechanism designed to let you neglect yourself.  Are you familiar with the term _self-care_?  I don't see a lot of indications that you're especially concerned with your own well-being."  She paused, then asked, quietly, "To what extent do you think growing up as an omega in the twenties and thirties has influenced that?"

"It's not your fault there was an emergency," he pointed out and the doctor smiled patiently at him.  Steve tilted his head. "I've never heard of that before, no. But I'm guessing it's pretty self-explanatory." There was that patient smile again. "I think that...obviously I'm a product of my time but I've changed a lot in the last nine months I've been awake. It helped having omegas around me a lot in SHIELD, to tell me how it was. I don't think a lack of self-care is necessarily a 'forties' thing. I think that once you've been in the army it's hard to get rid of that mentality...to remember you're an individual. It happened to a lot of my guys back in the day."

Dr. Brennan tented her fingers.  "A lot of guys back in your day recklessly endangered themselves?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.  It didn't sound like an accusation, but a genuine question. "...I have to be honest with you about something, Steve.  I saw the interview that came out back in January, right before you went missing. In fact, I re-watched it last night.  It was very difficult to watch. There was a lot of anger there, toward HYDRA and toward both of your mates. I don't necessarily think that's an army thing."

The door slammed open; Dr. Brennan looked up sharply.  "Excuse me!" she snapped.

Fury, Hill, and two other agents were walking in.  Behind them trailed Phil; he gave Steve a nod.

Fury glared at Tony, clearly assuming Tony had taken the bed for himself, then looked up at Steve, ignoring Brennan entirely.  "Glad to see you're looking better, Cap. I have something for you. A friendship bracelet." He held up a small black box on a thick leather and metal strap.

Phil caught Steve's eye and raised his right pant leg just a little bit, revealing one on his own ankle.

"...part of the deal Ellis made with Yemen.  Stark gets one too."

"I'm in the middle of a session," huffed Dr. Brennan.

"And I'm in the middle of an international crisis," replied Fury.  "You two can go back to chatting in a minute. Rogers. Leg."

Steve lifted his leg and Hill walked over to strap the tracker onto his leg with a little more force than was probably necessary. "Why the entourage?" Steve asked. "Worried I'd say no?"

The edge of Fury's lips quirked up but he said nothing.

He didn't know the other two agents behind the director. They looked a little wary of him in all honesty. When Steve caught Phil's gaze in return he offered him a small smile. It was good to see him.

"How far does this thing limit me?" Steve asked, poking the box. They all knew he could crush it in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. But he wouldn't. "Can I leave the state?"

"But not the country," Phil supplied. Steve nodded.

"You're lucky you're not under house arrest. _Again_ ," Nick pointed out flatly.

Dr. Brennan frowned.

"Talking to my patient like that will not help his recovery," she clipped.

"Your 'patient' threatened international security," Maria said. Steve had always admired her no-bullshit attitude but now that he was on the receiving end of it he wasn't so sure.

"Well I certainly didn't send my _patient_ undercover to spy on the son of a man who'd previously tried to assault him!"

Brennan glared right back at Hill. She looked deadly.

In another scenario Steve would have been annoyed at them talking about him like he wasn't there. But right now his chest felt tight. "How the hell do you know about that?"

Dr. Brennan's gaze traveled back to Steve.  "...I've been given access to all your files to help me in my assessment."

"Sorry, Cap," said Maria, who didn't really sound very sorry at all.

"To be fair, it's not like she couldn't have guessed.  Howard had a reputation," said Fury, crossing his arms.

" _Hey._ "  Everyone looked over at the bed; Tony's eyes were open.  "That's my dad; back off." He turned to Steve. "He tried to _assault_ you?  I thought he was just flirty."

Dr. Brennan glared daggers at the group of agents in the room.  "This is why sessions are _supposed to be_ private."

Fury dropped a heavy folder on the bed.  "Captain America doesn't get privacy," he said bluntly.  "One look at channel 4 could've told you that. Captain, here's your public apology.  Yemen is backing off, thanks in a very large part to the work of Colonel Rhodes. But you'd better give one hell of a stirring speech this Friday and look remorseful as hell."

"No, wait, I wanna know about my dad," demanded Tony, sitting up.

"Leg," command Fury, holding up another ankle bracelet.

Tony shoved his leg out petulantly.

"Why the hell is that in my file then?" Steve demanded. "Who put it there?!"

"Agent Carter, probably," Phil filled in helpfully.

"And he didn't try to _assault_ me. Jesus, maybe in today's standards but not in the forties," Steve huffed, looking more annoyed than anything else. "He didn't do anything the president didn't do," he added and Maria quirked a brow up at that.

"...do you mean president Roosevelt?" asked one of the agents, looking curious about this little historical fact.

"Wait. You want me to _publicly_ apologise?"

"Yes," Nick dead panned, staring him down.

Steve stared right back.

"No."

One of the agents in back crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in to Fury. "Did he just say _no_?"

"You hurt a lot of your friends in the backlas.h Steve," Hill said.

"Yes. Friends. Not the public. I don't owe the public shit," Steve said. "What do you seriously want me to apologies for? Having a breakdown. Sure, that's gonna go down swell. Do I mention the HYDRA mole?  And maybe I should drop in the fact that they pumped me full of drugs and tried to make me have babies too. The public will _love_ that."

" _What do I want you to apologize for?"_ repeated Nick, eye widening. _"_ How about going AWOL for two months, invading a sovereign nation, nearly causing a war, and endangering the public?  Huh? You wanna tell the _public_ about what they were trying to do, be my guest.  Because if the _public_ knew what nearly happened to you, you can damn well be sure they'd be upset.  An organization like HYDRA with access to its own super soldiers? Yeah, that's a matter of _public_ safety!  You don't think you owe the public anything?  Then back the hell out of this omega rights thing you're involved in, because that's a _public_ matter and you didn't exactly make your status look very good by having a meltdown when your mate turned out to be an asshole!" snapped Fury.

"Hey!" protested Tony.  Fury ignored him, yanking the ankle monitor onto his leg roughly.

" _This is a private session_!" said Dr. Brennan, looking murderous.

"My dad never _assaulted_ anyone," Tony griped, reaching down and trying to adjust the tight ankle bracelet on his leg.  "That's slander. Libel. Lies. Steve said it himself, Dad wouldn't do that, sure, he joked around and stuff, but he didn't _assault_ \--"

" _Out_!" barked Brennan.

Fury jabbed a finger at Steve.  "Your apology is gonna be the first of a long, long course of actions you're gonna have to take to fix this mess.  I've been out there fighting for you for days. The least you could do is suck up your pride and work with me, Rogers.  FYI, right now, we got the treason charges dropped and all agents involved are only facing probation.  Which is nothing short of a goddamn miracle."

"How long do we gotta wear these things for?" asked Tony, still fiddling with the ankle monitor.

"Until I say so," said Fury.

"I think I was allowed to go AWOL for a few months, don't you? Ever since I woke up it's been SHIELD this, SHIELD that- no one even considered the fact- or asked- if I even _wanted_ to do this anymore. I didn't ask to be a super-soldier. I just wanted to make a difference in the war! And I did.  We won.  It's over, isn't it? I goddamn died for all you people and you act like I owe you something. Yes. I screwed up. Royally. Sure, you can lord it over me forever, or accept the fact that I 'm an actual human, not just some mascot, and I make mistakes!"

Steve was standing, hands clenched by his sides. He was shaking with both fury and probably a dull sense of fatigue; the infection was gone but his injuries weren't.

"And my 'breakdown' had nothing to do with my status, _thank you_."

"You need to get out," Brennan snapped. "All of you. Before he has a panic attack!"

"I don't know. He already looks perkier," Maria pointed out drily.

"First of all, you're _not_ allowed to go AWOL for a few months, not without a damned passport.  You can't just waltz across international lines without going through the proper channels.  Second of all, I don't _care_ if you don't want to do this anymore, because unless you can give us the serum back, you're at least partially the property of the US government and of SHIELD.  And third, we _do_ accept your mistakes, which is why all we're asking for is for an apology to the prime minister of Yemen, instead of throwing you in jail!"

Fury's speech ended with a low growl from Tony, who, influenced by his mate's obvious state of upset, attacked.  Unfortunately, he didn't attack Fury, who was a beta. Rather, he attacked the nearest Alpha, who happened to be Dr. Brennan.

She and Tony fell to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs.

"Steve... I know it's hard to admit that our statuses influence us but... c'mon.  That breakdown wouldn't have happened if it weren't for..." said Phil softly, glanced down at Tony.  Fury, Hill, and the other two agents were attempting to pull them apart; Tony was snapping in between extremely creative curses and everyone was trying not to get bitten, without much luck; Hill had already taken a bite to the hand.  "...instinct and emotion plays a bigger role in our lives than in betas'. That's just biology," said Phil, softly, as the betas in the room finally managed to pull apart the Alphas.

" _May-I-please-be-alone-with-my-patient-thank-you_!" Dr. Brennan said in a single breath, looking ruffled and clearly trying to maintain her composure.

Tony growled and struggled.  " _Mine!  Mine!_ " he yelled, still trying to lunge at Brennan, the only one he was currently capable of recognizing as a threat.  The rest of the people in the room were either betas or omegas.

"Tony, she's a doctor, she just wants to talk to him," said Maria, who had Tony's arms pinned behind his back and was wrestling to keep him under control.

"Why the hell did they send an Alpha psychologist?" wondered one of the agents, rubbing a bruise on his cheek caused by Tony's elbow.

" _OUT!_ " barked Brennan.

Brennan looked petrifying. There was a quiet moment when everyone hesitated and then the agents began to shuffle out, Tony kicking against Maria's grip. But the woman was stronger than she looked and dragged Steve's Alpha out of the room without much issue. Phil hesitated, but didn't approach; Steve's hands were still clenched by his sides.

"You _will_ do it, right?" Phil asked softly. Steve's gaze dropped to the floor.

"Apologies don't count if you're forced to make them. They have to come from the heart," Steve said, recalling something his mother had once said. His hands eased by his sides. "And you have to be sorry to make them sincere."

"But _you_ are sorry, right?" Phil prompted.

Steve hesitated. "Well, I'm sorry about the consequences..  If Nick ever calls me government property again then I'm not coming back to SHIELD," he promised him, jaw tight.

Phil frowned but the doctor was already pushing him out the door. Brennan let out a tired sigh as she finally slammed the door shut behind them. "Please-- Steve-- sit down. Jesus Christ. Those people are _imbeciles_!" she shouted loud enough for them to hear in the corridor before she turned back around, tucking a loose strand of hair back in place. She offered Steve a tight smile, regaining her composure.

Steve moved to sit on the bed. He was shaking.

Phil had been the last one to leave the room and he winced at Brennan's yell through the door.  He looked back to the hall, turning his attention toward several sheepish-lookig agents and a very feral Tony still growing at Maria. He sighed and leaned against the  door. Nick remained unreadable as ever. They briefly locked gazes.

"If you're not careful you're going to lose him," Phil said to Fury, voice still gentle like it had been with Steve and then he moved to grab a glass of water off the tray outside. Then he moved to pour it over Tony's head, snapping him out of his daze.

Tony came to sputtering, all the fight out of him in an instant.

Maria let him go; he dropped to the ground, shivering violently.

"You okay, Stark?"

Tony opened his mouth, closed it, dragged a hand over his face.  "Fine," he croaked. "Dandy." He wasn't about to tell everyone staring at him that having water dumped on his face triggered a lot of very unpleasant memories.

"...I've already lost him," said Fury, looking toward the closed door to Steve's room.  "The World Security Council put the kibosh on the Avengers' Initiative over this. Maybe getting frozen and unfrozen messed his head up or something... I don't know.  But we can't have field agents we can't control, or at least predict."

"So now what?" asked Phil.

"After a lengthy probation, about a year, we'll be sending Barton to Mojave, and Romanov to India.  They need to be separated. The Council doesn't want pair bonds working together anymore. Wilson'll be stationed at the VA in D.C., and you'll be with me.  Stark and Rogers are on their own. Can't use them anymore for SHIELD." Fury's face was surprisingly serene as he laid out all these plans. "Hill. How's that hand?"

"Fine.  His bark's worse than his bite," she said.

"Sorry," said Tony.  "I was trying to bite Steve's psychiatrist, not you."

She rolled her eyes.  "That's not really an appropriate response, Stark."

Tony hovered outside Steve's door, unmoving, waiting.  "Yeah, well... it's the truth." He paused. The truth.  "Nick. Can I talk to you?"

Fury nodded and dismissed the others with a wave.  He waited until they had walked a fair way down the hall before speaking.  "You wanna know about your dad."

Tony nodded.

"...listen.  I knew Howard back when you were still a baby.  He'd cooled off a lot by his fifties. He wasn't a bad person.  But his views were old-fashioned. In his time, omegas weren't people and he had a hard time seeing them like that, especially since he kept two of 'em as servants."

"...Dad loved Jarvis and Ana," said Tony defensively.

"...I'm sure he did.  But your father also loved jet engines and nitramene bombs.  Doesn't meant he respected their autonomy. ...your father liked Steve but he didn't respect him."

"Did he assault him?" asked Tony, point-blank.

"...not in the violent sense.  He certainly groped him often."  Fury got a distant look. "One time, me and Howard had been drinking together, and he said to me... you know why they chose Steve?"

"Because he's amazing and brave and selfless and all that jazz?" said Tony.

"Yeah.  Partially.  But also because he's an omega.  And if they accidentally killed some scrawny, not-fit-for-duty omega... no one would've cared.  They picked Steve to minimize their own liability. The treatment was experimental and they had planned to use it on Alpha soldiers once they knew it worked.  But they lost Erskine before that could happen. So instead they ret-conned history, told everyone he was an Alpha, and people believed it, because no one could fathom that a Captain could also be an omega."

Tony looked down guiltily.  "So Dad..."

"...was a very dominant Alpha.  And not a very good person. And you, Stark, are nothing like him."

Tony's eyes watered and he reached over to hug Fury.

Fury squirmed.  "Hey, man, this coat is leather, don't cry on it."

"Right, sorry, sorry," said Tony, pulling away quickly.  "...thanks, Nick."

Fury turned away.

"Nick?"

Fury glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"...can I just ask one more thing?"

"...yeah?"

"Can I see your gross eye under the eye patch?  Seriously, I've been dying to know what it looks like."

Fury turned and stormed off, knowing he'd expected too much in thinking Tony's question would have been a serious one.


	38. Bucky Tries Yogurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that we use the comic date of Tony's parents' death, which was March 15, 1986. This does not change anything within the story and I don't know why the movies altered it in the first place. - T

They discharged Steve the next day, after only a few days. Brennan figured being in a SHIELD facility wasn't any good for his mental health and Gleason had confirmed that his neck was no longer infected; it was healing well thanks to the serum. So he could go home.

"Home" was Tony's house.  It felt strange, uncanny, to leave the hospital to find Happy waiting for them beside a fancy SUV with tinted windows.  Happy had hugged him when he saw him and it had been strange... strange to think of the man worrying him about him like that. Steve hadn't really thought about Happy once in his two-month vacation... but the man had been worried about him. Guilt weighed heavy in his chest...and on his goddamn ankle. They had been tagged like dogs. All of them punished, but only one of them had done something wrong. Maybe if Steve painted them all as heroes in his apology, then the Prime Minister Yemen would let the others off. Or would the President be in charge of that?  Or someone from the World Security Council?  Steve was unclear, but he felt terrible about way his little stunt had affected the others.  If Steve made it embarrassing for them to be persecuted, or something. He didn't know. He wasn't very good at politics.

Neither he nor Tony had been in the house for so long...it was weird to step inside. Steve saw his shield leaning against the arms of one of the sofas and swallowed. Would he ever have use for it again? Or would it just going to sit there, and collect dust?

He'd almost been expecting Aria and Pepper but the two had clearly seen the sense to give them some space. Steve had three days until his public apology on Friday. He had time to think about what to say and how to say it. And he always did speeches better on the spot anyway.

"How many camps did Ty say there was left?" Steve asked softly as Happy dropped a bag down in the entrance way, his gaze drifting over the stairwell still full of living, thriving orchids.

Tony stepped into the empty, cavernous house after Steve, looking around.  The indoor fountain that the stairs curled around was still flowing, babbling merrily, and the orchids were all bright.  Many had dropped their flowers but the people Tony had hired had clipped the stems and many were re-blooming.

"Hey, JARVIS," said Tony quietly.

"Welcome back, sir.  And welcome back, Captain Rogers," intoned JARVIS.  "Eighty-four," he added, in response to Steve's question.

"Eighty-four is a lot," Steve whispered, gaze drifting down to the floor. His gaze was distant, his mind drifting off.

Tony looked around at his house, the modern, minimalist design.  The only room of the house Tony had ever felt home in was his shop.  The rest was impersonal. Everything was immaculately clean, thanks to the staff.

He was treading lightly around Steve, still guilty.  Their relationship had taken on a strange sort of shyness.  Tony had stolen a peek at Steve's neck in the car. It was no long red and swollen and shiny.  It was healing rapidly. It was hard to say yet, but Tony felt like the mark looked different than it had, and he was steeling himself against the very likely possibility that the mark there would no longer be the familiar shape of his own bite mark.

"...do you want to still use the master bedroom or... or do you want to, y'know, have separate rooms?" asked Tony hesitantly, scratching his beard.

He'd gotten so used to sleeping with Steve that, when he'd retired to the lodge, he'd found the experience of sleeping alone to be dreadful.  Consequently he mostly passed out on the couch after a night of drinking and playing video games, waking to find Pepper had draped a blanket over him.

"I'll use the master. We'll see how it goes," Steve murmured, running a hand over his face as he dragged himself back to the present. He didn't want to be distant from Tony. He was unsure about sharing a bed, definitely iffy on sex, but he didn't know how he would feel about distancing himself from Tony even further. He'd felt so lonely the past few months and he was sure the other had too.

"I just..." Steve stared around and swallowed. "I don't know what to do with myself, Tony. I guess I haven't known for a while."

He tried to smile. It didn't meet his eyes.

Tony forced a smile back.  "You and me both, Stevie. ...this time, let's try to figure it out together, okay?  Instead of, y'know, creating an international incident." He scratched his beard again.  "I'm gonna go shave. I look awful." He paused. "I talked to Nick yesterday and he says Dad used to grope you a lot.  Is that true?"

Tony wasn't angry.  He was too tired for that.  But he had to know. Over the last few years of his life he had learned a lot of unpleasant truths about his family, his company, and himself.  And as ugly as all of them were, Tony wanted to know and to fix things. He was, at heart, a mechanic, and fixing things was what he did.

It was still strange to him to ask Steve, this fresh, young-faced guy who was half his age, about his father, to remind himself that Steve was, chronologically, old enough to _be_ his father.  Even though, biologically, Tony was old enough to be his.  And mentally? Emotionally? Well, both of them were a mess. Tony was sort of hoping they could just take it easy and focus on repairing their fractured relationship and public image, but based on Steve's question about the camps, he wasn't going to be so lucky.  Steve was probably already planning his next stunt.

"A lot of people did a lot of things. It was the forties. I was new and shiny," Steve said quietly, his gaze flitting up to Tony's face. It hurt to tell him. His memories of his father were fractured enough. He didn't want to taint them even further. But Tony asked and Steve was done with lying. He exhaled slowly. "...I didn't really think anything bad of it at the time. I didn't know any better."

Silence fell.  It wasn't overly-cloying because of the constant trickle of the indoor waterfall.

"You go shave; I'm just going to check on my room," said Steve, patting Tony's arm.  "Don't worry about your dad, Tony.  You're a different person than him."

They both knew 'his' room was the one full of drawings. It was Steve's space, something that was just for _him_. The equivalent of Tony's lab.

They both trekked upstairs; whilst Tony followed a curve in the hallway toward their room, Steve disappeared down a different wing, opening the door to his studio.  He felt instantly better the moment he saw he saw the drawings on the walls.

Peggy was smiling at him. He couldn't help but smile back.  This room was unchanged and the precious memories it held onto, safe.

About twenty minutes later he headed into their room tentatively. He spotted Tony shaving in the bathroom and went to search through the walk-in wardrobe, wanting to change out of his hospital-worn clothes. Steve ran his hand over his face and pulled out gym shorts and a jumper, comfy clothes.

Tony looked up when he heard Steve in the closet.

"Hey," he called out.  He looked back at himself in the mirror.  He looked a lot more like himself, his beard shaping into a sharper, more manageable goatee.  "...I left your room alone," he said. "...not really much choice, since you crammed my old reactor into the wall and stuff."  He was trying to downplay the fact that, truthfully, the reason he'd kept all the orchids, and Steve's room, and all of Steve's stuff, was that deep down, he wanted Steve back.

Sharing his omega was upsetting because it reflected badly on his own assertiveness as an Alpha.  But he'd punished Steve because of his insecurities. Worse, he'd done it a day after telling Steve how he wanted to be a better Alpha to him.

Tony set down his razor and rubbed his face, wanting a nap.  The drive from the SHIELD base to home hadn't been too bad; Happy had filled a lot of the silence, chatting pleasantly with Steve.  The hardest part had been when they came to the house. There was a crowd outside the gates of Stark mansion, so many that they spilled onto the PCH and had caused a pretty bad traffic jam.  The crowd was probably three-quarters reporters, wielding cameras and microphones. The other twenty-five percent were supporters. Some had opted for a pleasant "WELCOME BACK, CAP!" message, or "WE ❤  CAPTAIN AMERICA!"  Others had taken a more aggressive stance, such as, "OMEGAS DESERVE BETTER," (which had made Tony feel shitty because he agreed with them... Steve probably did deserve better) and, "Α + Ω + Α = LOVE" (which had made Tony feel shitty because they weren't in a trio and the idea of being in a trio with another Alpha absolutely sickened him.

"So I, uh, I gotta go to New York in two weeks," said Tony, examining his neck closely in the mirror for any spots he might have missed.  Tony often got micro-focused on whatever little task he was doing when he had to say something serious. The more casually Tony mentioned something, often, the more serious it was.

Steve sat down in their bed. The jumper was big and pooled around the curve on one shoulder, almost making him look normal-sized.  Almost.  Nothing could ever quite disguise his super serum bulk. He was having one of those days where he missed being small again. A part of him wished he could just curl up in the sheets and disappear. Whenever he had a cold or was feeling poorly he used to bundle himself up in blankets. Bucky would get home and surprise him by pouncing on the bed and tickling him. Steve would laugh so much his face would go red. Once he'd actually not being able to breathe for too long and started having a coughing fit; Bucky had felt so bad...

Steve shook away the memory.  He had to focus on the present.

When Tony stepped back he instantly looked better and more like himself. Steve could _see_ his face for starters... he'd missed that face. But he recognized that tone too and felt something big coming. He exhaled and looked into eyes.

"What's in New York?"

"...my parents," said Tony, after a beat.  He looked away, preening in the mirror again, with a forced sort of boredom.  "March 15th is the twenty-fifth anniversary. Quarter of a century. I go every year to..."  He stopped. To what? Every year, every March, Tony went out and stood by their graves, staring at the words chiseled into stone.  Usually it was cold. Sometimes there was a slushy snow on the ground. It was depressing. "...to pay my respects," he finished.

The first year he'd gone because Jarvis had wanted to.  In one of the only times ever that Tony had seen Jarvis lose his composure, he had crumpled on the ground, draping himself over the headstone, crying.   Tony had remembered feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable and worst of all guilty. He hadn't cried at their funeral and he hadn't cried then. He just stood there awkwardly, while Jarvis wept.  By that time, he'd already wasted away horribly. Jarvis had been about the same age as Howard and by then he was in his early seventies, so Tony had never thought Jarvis's death was untimely, but he was sure that, had Howard lived, Jarvis would have, too.

The second year it had been him and Obie.  Obie had gone with him the first five years and after that, it was just a ritual for Tony to swing by.  He was in New York so often for business anyway and it felt weird not to.

Tony didn't believe in any proper afterlife so he didn't waste words talking to his parents, who were in the ground.  He just stood there, staring, contemplating mortality and wondering how the fuck this had happened.

The terrible conclusion Tony had been forced to make after the accident was that his father had very likely been drunk.  It had been a weekend evening, after all. A tight, winding road. Howard drank daily. Maybe he'd just had one too many.  Tony had never known him to get behind the wheel of a car without being about to control it (Howard's piloting skills were seconds to none), but Tony could think of no other explanation.  It was March and slippery and cold and dark, and if Howard had had a few drinks and had hit a patch of black ice... well.

It had been no consolation to him that the coroner said they'd probably died on impact and not suffered.

 _What about me_ ? Tony had wanted to scream.  _What about_ my _suffering?_

"If you want me there, I'd like to be there," Steve said simply, lying down in the bed.   This, he supposed, was why Tony had been asking about his father.  Howard had been on his mind. 

The duvet was thick and bunched up around him. Steve picked at the white fabric lazily, focusing on the fibers close to his face. "Peggy's birthday is in a month. We should visit her. She'd love it," he whispered, aware that making plans so far ahead implied stability. Steve was here to stay.

He watched the shape of Tony's shoulders move as he checked himself in the bathroom mirror. Steve was aware how technical the other could get whilst preening; Tony liked a very tidy goatee. Steve was glad he couldn't really grow a full beard; he would never have that sort of patience. On average, omegas had less facial hair and less hair in... _other_ places. Something to do with hormones.  Steve shaved about twice a year, if that.

"I don't think they'll let you out of the country, Steve," said Tony delicately.  He wiped his face off with a towel and gave his goatee one final examination, making sure the hair was even on his jawline before walking out and sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to come to bed?" Steve asked, and then added, "To sleep. I mean... it's been a long week," he whispered, gaze drifting off to the ceiling.  "There was a point when I thought I would never make it back here again." Steve sighed and closed his eyes. "I forgot how awesome memory foam is."

Tony gave Steve a small smile and fingered the sheets.  "Yeah. Memory foam's great," he agreed. "...probably the best thing about the twenty-first century, along with Dippin' Dots and Slinkies."  He got up and walked over to the closet. Taking a cue from Steve, who was dressed, Tony pulled on some lounge clothes. Tony "lounge" style was a rather crazy amalgamation of things: a pair of MIT sweatpants that were probably older than Steve was, an extra-large olive Jack Daniels shirt that was Tony had gotten free at a bar trivia night, and a silk dressing gown that was probably worth several thousand dollars and had previously been owned by his father.

He sat back down on the end of the bed in his faded, baggy Jack Daniels shirt, still uncertain.  "...Steve? Can I hold you?" he asked in a small voice.

"...yeah," Steve said hesitantly, his gaze still stuck on the ceiling. "That would be great, actually."

The corner of Tony's mouth quirked up in a smile and he lay down.  He'd forgotten how tall Steve was, and how broad his chest was. He wrapped his arms around him, pressing his front to Steve's back, careful with the arc reactor and with the back of Steve's neck.  He set his chin on Steve's shoulder.

Steve was a tricky person to 'hold', mostly just because of his size. But if felt good to have Tony pressed up against his back and breathing soundly against his neck. It had been so long since Steve had experienced this sort of physical closeness... it was strange but not unwelcome. Tony's hands were warm against him, and grounding. And it was good to trust that Tony wouldn't try any funny business when Steve was in this state. Whatever this 'state' was.

Steve let his eyes slip shut slowly. "Thank you Tony... for being here."

"...I should've been here to begin with," said Tony quietly.  "...both of us have been so caught up with the whole omega rights things but it sort of occurred to me that... it sucks for Alphas, too.  To have this burden to be all macho all the time, to be assertive and dominant and in charge. That we sort of... set up expectations for both statuses.  We expect omegas to be obedient and subservient but we also expect Alphas to be these aggressive leadership types, and then we judge people's worth based on how well they conform to that, even though half of the expectations that we set up aren't ones that we have any control over in the first place.  It's fucked up, you know?" He lapsed into silence, then remember what Gleason said. "...Steve, whatever happens, it's not your fault, okay? That he bit you. And even if it... heals... y'know, not with mine... I'm not going anywhere again. To hell with what the media thinks. I'm Iron Man and if that's not enough, they can go fuck themselves."

He closed his eyes.  Steve was right about memory foam being amazing; Tony hadn't slept in his own bed since back in December and it felt wonderful.

It occurred to him, as he drifted off, that people who said he resembled his father were overwhelmingly betas.  Alphas rarely made the comparison, because they were going by dominance, by his scent... and scent-wise, Tony did not resemble his father in the slightest.  And for the first time in forty years, he didn't really care much.

* * *

_The two of them were lying in bed, his chest pressed up against Steve's back, his arms wrapped around the omega.  He nuzzled the back of his neck, half-asleep, and Steve hummed sleepily in response._

_"I love you, Stevie."_

_"You too, Bucky."_

_The apartment was cold but the two of them, together, with the heavy quilt over them, were warm, and he didn't ever want to get up.  He wished that moment would last forever, the two of them cuddling, Steve's breaths, for once, even and unlabored._

_He had never really thought that the two of them would bond; he was a strong, dominant Alpha who could take any omega he wanted and Steve was sick and probably unable to bear children.  But after Sarah's death, something had changed. He'd looked at Steve and realized that Steve was more than just a childhood friend. The idea of him knocking around in his apartment all by himself, it killed him to think about.  And so within the week he'd found a flat for them to share and the two had moved in together and bonded, and even though he'd gotten a lot of disappointed admonishments from his pals ("...Steve Rogers? Are you kidding me?_ You _bit_ Steve Rogers? _") he had never once regretted it._

_How could he possibly explain what it was he liked about Steve?  Yeah, Steve was small and sick and sad. Steve's body was a tragedy and his heats non-existent.  But that wasn't it. It was his spirit. The way he always got back up. The way he refused to feel burdened by his body, the way he viewed the world.  As an artist, and a hero. Steve was something of a warrior-poet and Bucky had never met anyone like him. No matter how often he was knocked down, Steve would always get up, and no matter how often he failed, he would always try again.  That was Steve in a nutshell. There was no other omega like that and Bucky didn't want any other omega._

_Maybe that was why he only ever took home betas.  He knew how badly it crushed Steve but an Alpha had needs and what would the guys down at the docks think if he always went home alone?  It was bad enough he'd insisted on bonding to a "worthless" omega. He didn't want to seem like he was pussy-whipped by the same omega, not "allowed" to fool around.  All the other guys did and Bucky couldn't stand the idea of being a dominant Alpha who obeyed his omega's orders like some kind of trained monkey. Having affairs was perfectly normal and being the dominant Alpha he was, it was_ expected _.  But he hoped, deep down, that it was at least comforting to Steve to know that Steve was the only omega in his life, that the girls he brought home were betas and that he'd never bond anyone else, only Steve.  And that no matter how many dames came and went, Steve was a permanent fixture in his life, there to stay, and that he would never let him go._

* * *

Bucky woke up with a strange feeling.

He sat up, rubbing his chest.  They were in another hotel; Wanda was noisily crunching ice from a bucket and lying on her stomach, flipping through the television channels.

"My heart and my throat feel different," reported Bucky.

"...are you sad?" she asked.

This was an ongoing conversation.  Bucky would often ask about feelings.  Sometimes, Wanda would point to a person in a magazine and say, "She's happy," or, "He looks concerned."  Bucky would take notes. The whole thing was exhausting to the twins, but at least it provided a distraction.

"It's like rejection, but it isn't unpleasant."

Wanda frowned.  "...loss?"

"Is loss the same as rejection?"

"No.  Rejection means being denied something; loss means losing something you already had.  ...I think."

"I lost my arm," reported Bucky.

"Yes."  (Bucky had rediscovered the loss of his arm at least six times over the last few days.)

"...it feels too big," said Bucky, tapping his heart.

Wanda cocked her head.  "...hope?"

"Like the feeling when I complete an objective and Colonel Karpov says, _Хорошая работа, солдат_."

"...happiness?" ventured Wanda.

Bucky stared blankly for a moment, then said, "Maybe it's happiness."  He reached for his notebook with his right hand. It was slowly filling up with half-memories, most of them murders.  That was what he remembered best. The people he killed.

 _Happiness_ , he wrote, then paused, thinking, trying to flush out the idea that was just on the tip of his brain.  _Steve._

For now, that was enough.  He settled down with Wanda to watch the television, fishing ice from the bucket with his left hand.

* * *

They both had an unintentional lie in. Steve woke around eleven, bleary-eyed and sleepy still as he pushed himself up with a yawn. He stretched out like a cat, back curving before he turned over to look at Tony. The man was sleeping soundly, looking better than he had since Steve saw him by his bedside in the med bay. He smiled a little and reached out to grab his sketchbook from the bedside table. It was where he'd left it. Steve went to grab a pencil too when his hand twitched in pain. Suddenly, it felt cold and his fingers throbbed at the tips. Steve frowned and flexed his fingers once, twice. The feeling slowly returned. Maybe it was phantom pains from his frostbite again.

He let the moment slide and reached for the pencil again.

Steve sketched Tony for over an hour until he began to wake. They were faint, gentle line drawings that captured his likeness more than the detail. There was a sense of peacefulness about them; the dark granite lines cautious against stark white paper. Steve had always had a lot of control in that sense; he knew when to stop.  Too bad he couldn't translate that particular artistic skill to anything in real life.

Tony opened an eye to find Steve sitting on the bed drawing him.  Tony knew Steve drew his portrait a lot, most often when he wasn't paying attention, but still found it occasionally disconcerting.  "Hey," he mumbled.

"Hey sleepy head," murmured Steve back, and set the sketchbook down in his crossed legs.  "Listen.  I... I thought about what you said last night and you're right.  About statused people having more roles and stereotypes to fulfill than betas.  But I feel like... sorting out omega problems sort of works with it. I feel like if we do it right, everything should just...fall into place." Steve picked up his sketchbook and added a hint of shadow under Tony's sleeping form. "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything rash again, at least for a while...I have one shot left at this. Or all I've done is just made things worse.  But I definitely have some ideas."

"Hm?  Yeah. Yeah, totally," agreed Tony blearily, struggling to sit up.  He stretched; the dander on the back of his neck rose and then went down reflexively.  Tony gave the back of his neck a vigorous rub just to make sure it was flat.

A memory rose to his mind suddenly: back when he was still young, in his twenties, full of vim, Obadiah had insisted on his gelling down his hair.  It was the early nineties and it was fashionable, but, more importantly, Tony was, as Obie put it, "young, dumb, and full of cum," and his dander would often rise in board meetings.  Obie was of the opinion that Tony ought to have control of that by now, similar to facial expressions, but Tony honestly couldn't help it no more than he could help how expressive his face was.  He'd grown his beard because Obadiah had told him to and invested heavily in hair gel because Obadiah had told him to, and now, decades later, he still maintained his facial hair and styled his hair carefully, even though he'd long since learned to control the rise of the hair on the back of his neck and most of his facial expressions.

"...you must feel better.  If you're drawing," said Tony cautiously.  A pause. "Aria has your sketchbook, the one that was in Siberia.  She said it was better if SHIELD didn't see it. Natasha gave it to her.  ...in case, y'know, you want it back." Another pause. "...how's your neck feel?" he ventured cautiously.

"I don't want it back. In fact, I barely remember what's in there. Probably best if it's burnt," Steve said simply, sounding almost...embarrassed? Tony knew full well he hated other people seeing his art. But he'd been foolish enough to leave it behind in the first place. He certainly hadn't wanted HYDRA to come across it either. And he knew that sketchbook was full of a lot of bad things- a lot things in there probably showed just how 'on the edge' he'd been. Peggy always knew that when he started drawing Schmidt, it was bad.  She was the only one he showed his sketchbook to after he'd liberated Bucky's camp.  The nightmare of seeing Schmidt, and all those dead men... there had been a lot of dark sketches in his journal after that.

His gaze flickered up from the drawing to Tony's face. "My neck's okay.  It feels like an ache instead of a burn. It's manageable," he said simply and then Steve turned the drawing around for Tony to see (something he did not do by habit. Seeing Steve's work was usually a rarity, especially sketches like this and not the finished piece). "You look younger when you sleep."

"...you sayin' I look old?" asked Tony, half-teasingly.

Before Steve could answer, JARVIS was nagging them.

"Aria would like to know if it would be possible to visit this afternoon," JARVIS sounded out. Steve worried on his bottom lip.

"Can you ask her if she can do tomorrow?" Steve asked, not really feeling like seeing anyone but Tony today. The thought made his stomach turn.

Tony was thankful when Steve said he'd rather see Aria tomorrow.

"...Pepper'll probably want to come by, too," he said.  "...JARVIS, what's the docket for us?"

"Aside from your publicists, you would do well to schedule meetings with your lawyers.  Dr. Gleason, Dr. Brazinski, and Dr. Brennan all request to see Captain Rogers on a daily basis for the next week.  Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, the Undersecretary of Defense, the director of the CIA, and Gideon Malick of the World Security Council all require briefings with Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark, separately."

"Cool," said Tony, sarcastically.

"Also, the Walkers from the Horseshoe Society, Irshad Nazari of the World Omega Rights Council of the United Nations, and Tiberius Stone and Thomas Banksy on behalf of Status Alliance had requested meetings with Captain Rogers."

"Three different omega rights groups?  How come there's no _Alpha_ organizations?" griped Tony quietly, annoyed by Steve's popularity.  He was used to being the popular one. It felt weird to live with someone who was more famous than him.

"For the same reason there are no heterosexual parades or white pride organizations, I suspect," said JARVIS.

"I wasn't asking you, Jarv.  Besides, I already know there's a few.  ...good use of analogy, though.  Alan Turing would love you."

"As an artificial intelligence system, that is perhaps the highest compliment you could pay me," replied JARVIS.

"Yeah, well, don't flatter yourself, Jarv.  I'm paying myself the compliment, not you. After all, _I'm_ the one who coded you."  Tony examined the sketch Steve held out to him, reaching to to brush the page softly with his fingertips.  He knew how much Steve treasured his art.

Steve almost smiled at their bickering. "I missed you JARVIS," he told him and it felt surprisingly normal to say to an AI.

"It is good to have you home, captain," the AI returned.

Tony looked up to meet Steve's sincere blue eyes, and suddenly the atmosphere of the room grew serious.

"...Steve?" said Tony quietly.  "Can I look at the back of your neck?" He was already steeling himself for the worst possible scenario.

A chill ran down his spine and his breath hitched.

He put the sketch book down slowly and swallowed. "Please just promise me you won't hate me not matter what you see?"  Steve whispered, gaze drifting away to the bed sheets.

Tony reached out and took both of Steve's hands in his.  "Steve. Look at me for a sec." Tony had to duck his head a little to catch Steve's eye; Steve was looking down.  "It's not your fault this happened. And even if it was, it doesn't matter to me now. Whatever happens, I already made my decision.  You don't get to consciously chose which mark your body accepts, and I know I'm not very dominant and... and he is. And that's okay. Because me and you chose each other, _consciously,_ with our big squishy frontal lobes, and, to quote Phil Collins or Coulson or whatever that little dork's name is, _fuck_ biology.  I'm not going to let you go again.  I was stupid to do it in the first place.  ...okay?"

He squeezed Steve's hands, running his thumb comforting over the back of the other's hands.

Steve smiled faintly and it didn't quite meet his eyes but he did _smile_. He stared down at Tony's hands around his, the skin a tinge darker, fingers a little thicker and shorter and rougher from his work. Steve had always had feminine hands before. 'Artist's hands,' Bucky used to joke when Steve pouted as his fingers couldn't quite reach a particular chord on a piano. Even after the serum he still felt like he'd sort of kept them; sure his hands were big and strong but the fingers were slender. Even with the serum, his status hid in the details.

"I think that's the first time I'd ever heard you admit you're stupid," Steve murmured fondly and his gaze finally drifted back up to Tony's face.

Tony smiled a little in response to Steve's smile.  "...Dad used to say I was real stupid for a genius," he said, almost fondly.  Howard had frequently accused Tony of acting stupid and, though it had hurt at the time, Tony could now see some of the humor in it.  His IQ was immeasurable, estimated to be somewhere in the low two hundred range, and he was supposedly the third smartest man in the world.  Of all his father's biting remarks, being called "stupid" had been the one most easy to brush off. And Tony suspected that Howard hated having a kid that was smarter than him.

Tony knew Steve could feel his trepidation.  He knew Steve could feel how anxious he was.  But not knowing was worse. Tony would rather know.  Even if it wasn't his mark, he'd learn to accept it. The important thing was that Steve was in his bed, not Bucky's, and that Steve had chosen him, not Bucky.

Tony felt a bit of shame for being so worried it ws Bucky's bite mark and not his.  It could, of course, be worse, from an omega's standpoint. It could be an unreadable mess of scar tissue.  Tony had seen omegas with necks like that and he felt the same knee-jerk revulsion to that as he did when he saw a woman who had had a butchered mastectomy.  It was unnatural; bonding markings were supposed to be neat and clean, the outline of the teeth obvious... the fingerprint of the Alpha that had put the scar there.  Bonds that healed badly meant either the Alpha had fucked up, or multiple Alphas had torn the gland apart. Either way, it was grotesque.

...and then there was Ty.  No matter how much he liked having reunited with his old friend, Tony would never get over the creepy-crawly sensation that Ty's smell evoked.  At least Steve still had the gland, even if it was "confused" and had accepted another Alpha's bond. At least Steve was still whole.

"Hey.  We can still feel each other.  It's not like his bond replaced mine," said Tony, reasonably.  "...if you're dual-bonded, you're dual-bonded. It's okay." He tried to say it like he didn't mind being a secondary Alpha, even though, if the bite mark wasn't his, that's exactly what he would be reduced to, in the eyes of the public.  A permanent reminder of his failure of dominance.

But right now the only set of eyes he was interested in was the downcast blue ones before him.

"It doesn't have to be okay," Steve whispered. "You're allowed to be upset about it Tony. Just don't push me away over it."

"Listen, I won't push you away.  You're here. ...it's better if we know."

Steve sighed softly, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He hated to admit it but he was nervous. v He wished they didn't have to do this. His mark(s) might not have even settled yet and it might be impossible to tell still. They could be getting themselves worked up over nothing. "Okay," Steve let out a shaky breath. "Let's do this."

It would be easier for him to just turn around so he did, slowly. Steve set his sketch book aside and then moved to kneel down with his back to Tony. But his Alpha wasn't saying anything and that was just making Steve more and more nervous. He wished he could remember it happening. Had he fought against Bucky? Or had he enjoyed it? Both ideas unsettled him.

"Tony?" Steve asked quietly. "Tony, what does it look like?"

Tony stared.

He reached out to finger the mark.  It was red, still healing, but it _was_ healing, taking on the distinctive shape of a human bite mark.  Two half-circles, about eight marks in either crescent. Almost a circle.  The top bite deeper than the lower.

The circular human bite was easily identifiable, shining out through the swelling, taking shape, becoming permanently.  It was a neat mark, distinctive. None of that tangled scar-mass that omegas that had been raped or violently force-bonded had.  No, this was a perfectly normal bond-mark. Not deforming.

"...it's healing pretty good," said Tony, wanting to reassure Steve, voice cracking a little.  "Looks clean. It's not... not messed up or anything, your gland's fine."

A long pause.  Steve probably knew.

Tony touched the skin gently, tracing the unfamiliar ridges in the skin.

"I still don't remember it happening. I've tried to, but I don't," Steve said in a whisper, head still bowed. He almost felt guilty for it...like he owed Tony the truth. But he didn't even know it himself. Did Steve encourage Bucky? Did he give him permission? He was shaking a little; his hands were clammy.  "Least it isn't messed up, I guess," Steve said and before he knew it he was leaning back against Tony, his head against the curve of his shoulder. He felt like he was floating... like he wasn't really quite here. Tony's touch was grounding as he stared up at the ceiling. "I don't want people to see that."

"...it's not like I've never been with a girl who didn't have her ex's name tattooed on her," said Tony suddenly, trying to inject some humor into the situation.  As if bond marks weren't a big deal.

Even though they were.

"I think if I got a tattoo I might actually make that vein in Fury's head explode," Steve said after a moment with a half smile on his lips.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve, setting his chin on Steve's head and closing his eyes.

"It doesn't matter if you remember it or not, Stevie," he said softly.  "All that matters is that it's over and done and we're back here now." A pause.  "...you should get a Mike Tyson facial tattoo. Fury would probably just lay down and die."  Tony tried to smile but couldn't quite. "...do you know who Mike Tyson is? ...he's a boxer.  He has a facial tattoo."

Silence fell again, thick, oppressing.

"...Steve?  ...I'm not mad at you.  But I _am_ upset," said Tony after a moment, very quietly.  "...I _liked_ my mark.  I liked looking at it, and whenever I bit over it, it felt... it felt so.. _. familiar._ "

He could feel Steve's guilt and knew Steve probably felt responsible.  But what omega was _ever_ responsible?  They went crazy during heats, and it's not like Tony had explicitly asked for Steve's permission when he'd bitten him, either.  Bonding just... happened.

"It's not your fault," he repeated stubbornly, determined to be a good mate and follow Dr. Gleason's directions about reassuring Steve.  "...Aria will probably know what to do, about the public. I bet she'll know how to deal with this. Her and Pepper, they're press wizards."

"I don't _want_ to 'deal' with it. It's no one's business...I hate that we have to," Steve whispered, eyes fluttering shut. He just focused on breathing for a brief moment, the feeling of Tony's hands hot against his waist.  "I just want to be myself. For once. I don't want to be asked questions by stupid men in skinny ties and fake glasses. I just...I just want to say what I want to say," he sighed.

Steve cracked open an eye and turned his head sideways to look at Tony. "I know you liked looking at it. But it's still _there_ , just a little messed up," he breathed. "You can't see all the marks you leave on a person. The 'marks' you left on me are vastly different to the ones left on me in that cage, Tony."

Tony was unable to keep from rolling his eyes.  "Spare me the speech, Cap. No offense but you have no idea what it's like from the Alpha perspective.  It's like if I gave you a wedding ring and then one day saw you traded it for someone else's. I _know_ it's just symbolic and I _know_ we're still bonded but it still sucks.  Like your body is reminding me of what a shit Alpha I am."

He nuzzled Steve's hair.

"...I still love you.  Just let me feel bad about it, okay?  It's an Alpha territory thing."

"Okay. Sorry. You feel as bad as you need to," Steve breathed, his stomach doing flips when Tony said he loved him again.

A pause.

"...I don't get how the hell he's managed to bite you _twice_ and still never fuck you.  I mean, I'm glad he didn't, but _how_ ?  Every time I ever bit your neck, I felt like I was going crazy.  How does anyone have that much self-control? Or is he just so fucked up in the head he doesn't do stuff unless they tell him to?  What's his _deal_?  And if we're all bonded now-- don't say we're not a trio, Steve, 'cause you know as well as I do we're all fucking connected-- if we're all bonded now, why can't I feel him like how I feel you?"  Tony paused. "Can _you_ feel him?"

* * *

He felt numb.

He was not used to making choices and suddenly there were an infinite number of them before him.  He was utterly lost without his handler's direction.

"This is the problem with capitalism," said Wanda darkly.

They were standing in the dairy aisle of a well-lit grocery story with a cheerful pop song raining down on them from the speakers, and Bucky was standing motionless in front of a wall of yogurt.

There were over 100 options, easily, and he had spent more than twenty minutes already examining all the different flavors and brands.

"James.  Come on. Pick one.  Just close your eyes and pick one," pleaded Pietro.

"I must try delicious Greek yogurt."

"These are _all_ delicious Greek yogurt.  Just pick _any_ one of them.  Name a food you like and get that one."

Bucky pulled his notebook out and consulted it.  "...salmon," he said.

"No, they don't-- they don't make salmon-flavored yogurt, James."

"Avocado."

"No."

"Walnuts."

"Well, this one has crushed nuts, that's close," said Wanda, picking up a cup.

"Plums."

"Here, this one's cherry, cherry is very similar to plum," said Pietro, picking up another one.

" _Not_ the red one," said Bucky, pushing away the cherry-flavored yogurt.

"Barnes.  _Any single one of these_ is sufficient.  _Just pick one_ ," demanded Wanda.

"Plain.  How about plain?" said Pietro, shoving a cup of yogurt at him.  "Plain, regular yogurt."

"...is it delicious and Greek?" asked Bucky, brow furrowing at the label.

Wanda put her hands up.  "Say the word," she whispered to Pietro, wiggling her fingers.

He shook his head.  "No. Let him choose.  This is important," he said.  "This is him getting better."

* * *

Steve and Tony were quiet as they sat curled in bed, Tony's arms around Steve's waist and Steve' bond-mark, still healing, between them.

Steve understood that Tony's question about how Bucky had never managed to mate him was mostly rhetorical, but it weighed heavy on his mind.

Steve pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Natasha did say that... that when they found me... he was going to..." He didn't finish that sentence, closing his eyes again as he swallowed down a lump in his throat. It hurt that he couldn't even remember it. Maybe Natasha had misread the situation; maybe he hadn't been going to... because Bucky wouldn't have...

"The way Alphas and omegas feel each other is different. You're more likely to feel things like fear and panic from me because you're the 'protector.' I'm more likely to feel your anger and disappointment because I'm supposed to appease you," Steve pointed out.  "Maybe since both Alphas are the protectors, they won't feel each other.  I dunno.  I never heard of two Alphas sharing an omega before.  But if we both feel Bucky...we'll both feel him differently. But ever since Bucky was in HYDRA, I never felt him, Tony.  And that's when we just had _our_ bond, when it was just me and him. He's not like you and me. His emotions are cut off. I don't feel him. Sometimes I would...hear him, or think I did. But that could just be shell-shock. I don't know, Tony."

"It's called PTSD now," said Tony.

"Right, combat fatigue."

"PTS-- hell, call it whatever you want.  You want to let me make you breakfast?  I can make an omelette or something," offered Tony.  He desperately wanted to do better, make up for the last two months.

He found it interesting how simply Steve had described their emotional experiences.  He'd never thought much about it, but it was true. Tony felt fear and sadness and shame from Steve, but Steve always reacted strongly when Tony was angry.  He'd never stopped and considered they felt the bond with different intensities. It made sense, though, the way Steve explained it.

And it was utterly ludicrous to think of Tony as Captain America's protector, just as ridiculous as trying to imagine Steve trying to obey and appease someone.

Certainly, Tony had seen that.  His father and Jarvis had been the epitome of a traditional Alpha-omega pair.

But he and Steve were anything but traditional.

"...this could be a good thing, you know," said Tony.  "Us shaking things up. Well... shaking things up more, I mean.  You preaching to omegas about, you know, how forced bonding sucks, and me, preaching to Alphas about how they don't have to act like fucking cavemen over omegas.  ...I mean, yeah, there's biology, but we should be better than that, you know? We're fucking evolved, man. Stuff like hormonal dominance, that shouldn't matter anymore at all, should it?  ...but seriously, I wanna get up and eat breakfast. I'm starving. Lately I've been craving yogurt like crazy. I must've seen a commercial or something, because I just can't get it out of my head..."

"Breakfast sounds great," Steve agreed and moved to sit up. He paused briefly and considered the fact that Tony had slept with more people than he had, but Steve had bonded with more people... it was so strange. "It could be a good thing, yeah, if we play it right. If anyone can do this, we can," Steve hummed and laid back out in bed, hair tufting at the front as he looked up at Tony with a sleepy expression on his face. "Mind if I stay here while you cook? Kinda not emotionally ready to part with the memory foam.  ...and I'm kind of craving yogurt, too.  How about yogurt and an omelette?"

Tony smiled down at him and reached out to card his fingers through his hair.  "Yeah. You got it. Breakfast in bed for my favorite omega.  One omelette, coming right up. You just rest, okay?  You earned it."

He got up and loped downstairs, still in his sweats and his Jack Daniels shirt.  He stopped short when he spied Pepper sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, eating vegetable chips and reading through his mail.

"What are you doing here?"

"...are you kidding me, Tony?  I've spent the last two months tending on you hand and foot, trying to manage the company remotely, and that's what you say to me when you find me in your home?  I'm here to help you mop up your mess, as usual."

"It's half Steve's mess," said Tony reasonably.  He opened the fridge to search for yogurt and eggs.

"What happened?"

"Well..."  Tony pulled out a carton of eggs and found a bowl.  "...we're in trouble, I guess." He pulled up his pants' leg to show her the ankle monitor.  "Steve's got to apologize to Yemen. But that's pretty much it."

He took out an egg and cracked it on the end of the bowl.  It didn't split evenly. He gave it another tentative whack, but it still didn't break.  He frowned at it carefully, thoughtfully, getting overly focused.

Casually, he added, "Steve got re-bonded."

He gave the egg a third whack and it broke into several pieces, covering his hand in sticky yolk and albumen.

Pepper stood up and went over to pull him away from the eggs.

"...let me do that."

"I can crack an egg," protested Tony indignantly.  "...lemme just go get the suit."

" _No_ , Tony."

"But I'm making Steve this omelette special!"

"You're getting raw egg all over the counter and floor... I'll crack the eggs for you... you'll get eggshells in the bowl if you do it that way."

"...one time, when I was three, I read in this science book that an egg was so strong that you couldn't break it on the axis.  So I took an egg into Dad's workshop and put it in a vice... turns out you can totally break an egg in a vice. I guess they meant you can't crack it by hand."

"Tony.  Focus," said Pepper, who was used to Tony's odd over-focusing and distractability as a defense mechanism.  "Did you say Steve was re-bonded?"

A pause.  Tony nodded, looking down at the egg on the floor.  He wiped his hand on his pants. "...yeah," he said quietly.  "...but that's not his fault. Me and him are okay."

Pepper reached over and hugged him.  Tony stiffened, but after a moment, he hugged her back with a weary sigh.

* * *

Bucky stared down into the cup of yogurt.  He'd finally settled on peach. He had picked the fruit off the bottom and was now stirring it morosely.  They were outside the grocery store, sitting on a bench, enjoying the brisk spring day. Or at least, Wanda and Pietro were.  Bucky was clearly bothered.

"What's wrong, James?" asked Wanda.  "It took you an hour to pick that out.  Don't you like it?"

Bucky shook his head.  "...no," he admitted quietly.  He didn't like delicious Greek yogurt.  He looked over at her. "...this is why it's better to take orders instead of making decisions.  Sometimes you make the wrong choice."

Wanda stared at him.  "...yes but... you learn when you make the wrong choice," she pointed out.  "Today, you learned you don't like Greek yogurt. Now, when someone offers you Greek yogurt, you can say, _no thank you, I don't like that_."

Bucky stared at her in confusion, cocking his head.  "But if you _ordered_ me to eat delicious Greek--"

"You can say no," repeated Wanda firmly.

Bucky looked down, then up.  "Do I have to finish this?"

"No," said Wanda and Pietro together.

Bucky's face broke into a grin, and he tossed the yogurt into the trash.


	39. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Tony holds a baby (awkwardly)! Bucky watches Blue's Clues (attentively)! Steve refuses to sing on live television (bashfully)! And so much more!
> 
> Please note that Gideon Malick is canonically an advisor and junior member of the World Security Council, but only appears in Agents of SHIELD. We have chosen to bring him into the MCU as a major villain with minor alterations and omissions to his story as it appears in Agents. 
> 
> Enjoy! - T

Steve could smell food coming up the stairwell into the bedroom, and his stomach growled. He was pretty sure he heard Pepper's voice downstairs but didn't really feel like going down. When he said he didn't feel like seeing anyone else today he'd meant it. Pepper was a friend but...he didn't want to see the way she'd look at him. He'd gotten enough looks of pity off of the nurses to last a life time. Why did people feel so sorry for him when he'd done this to himself?

It was probably at least another twenty minutes until he heard Tony coming upstairs. Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows. The omelette looked a liquid-y and the bacon a little burned on the sides. But Tony had made it and that was what counted.

Steve sat up as Tony set the tray down, offering him a small smile as he reached out to pick at a piece of bacon. It was sweet and salty on his tongue. "So... what's the plan for the day?" he asked quietly, wondering if Pepper would hang out downstairs or maybe come up at some point. Steve kind of felt like the upstairs was their own space. And he didn't want it being invaded right now.

"The plan?" repeated Tony, proudly edging the plate with the omelette over to Steve.  "...there's no plan. We do whatever we want." He looked down at the ankle monitor on his leg.  "...I don't think I'll be able to work on any part of the suit below the waist, but I was gonna tinker around with the gauntlets and the shoulders ailerons and maybe the HUD display.  I'm still working on the Mark VII but it's slow-going with that thing, it keep punching me in the crotch. ...but yeah, no, we can do whatever you want. Maybe I was gonna take a swim, y'know, just... enjoy the pool, work on my tan."

He watched Steve pick at the bacon.  He was pretty sure neither of them would ever work for SHIELD again, unless there was a total catastrophe of the meteor-heading-toward-Earth variety.  Once they were done meeting with lawyers, ambassadors, and the media, their schedule would open up in a way it hadn't for a long time. Steve would probably be on the press junket for a long time, and Tony would be able to go back to doing his solo Iron Man gig, playing with his suits and blasting baddies when he felt like it.

"You can just rest if you want to... you're still healing," he added.  "...whatever you want to do Steve, I wanna, y'know, support that..." He reached over to run his fingers through Steve's short blond hair.

The nice thing about hitting rock bottom was that it provided a very unshakeable foundation.  Now that the worst had come to pass after all, Tony was feeling more stable than he had in a long time.

He knew perfectly well it was short-lived, of course.  He'd already mentioned the upcoming quadranscentennial of his parents' death, in a little over two weeks, and now that he'd spoken it, it had begun lurking in the back of his mind like a dark shadow.  Tony usually dedicated at least a week to having a massive breakdown, moping around the house drunk in various stages of undress and playing classical dirges on the piano while Pepper calmly cancelled all his appointments for him.

But he was hoping to hold off the cloud of depression for a while yet.

Of course, following March was what Tony glibly called his "Afghanistanniversary," which came with its own set of neuroses.  Pepper had been trying to convince Tony not to throw his usual party, but he had thrown one in 2009 and 2010 and he was damned if he was going to end the traditional now.  Steve hadn't yet been present for that, coming to Tony in early May, just before his birthday. Although Tony liked celebrating the day of his escape, it also dredged up a lot of terrible memories.  The 2010 party, just before Steve had appeared on the scene, had ended with a massive orgy and then a lot of crying from both the girls (when Tony had Pepper escort them out) and Tony (who was high on God-knows-what and didn't remember most of it, instead reading all about the orgy in the tabloids the next day while battling a terrible hangover).

Steve smiled and looked up when Tony ran his fingers through his hair. He loved the feeling of it and he'd missed it over the past two months. The touch always made a pleasant shiver run up his spine. "Maybe we could just...stay in bed, watch something? I don't know. I kind of just wanna be distracted, you know?"

Steve took the plate and began to eat. It felt good to have something in his belly. He guessed now he was hanging up his shield he wouldn't need to keep eating shit-tons of protein and working out for hours and hours everyday. What was the point of keeping himself so stacked if he had nothing to do with it? Sure, the serum would always keep him fit, but his lack of discipline over the last two months had made him noticeably less bulky. Of course, he was still huge but his clothes weren't quite as tight on the shoulders as they used to be.

It was a scary thought...what was he going to do now? He thought about the eighty-four omega conversion camps out there and what had happened to Ty-- no.  Nott now. Not today. Steve could afford distractions for a day.

"Peggy said one of her favorite shows was thing called Blackadder; maybe we could watch that? I think it's supposed to be funny," Steve said and JARVIS piped up from overhead.

"It's a black comedy, Captain.  English, running from 1983 to 1989.  Would you like me to call it up on screen?"

Tony perked up a little.  "Jarvis loved that show. Bring it up, JARVIS."

He settled down onto the bed next to Steve, content to lose himself in the mind-numbing viewing of the television.  Thinking about real life was just too hard at the moment. The mark on the back of Steve's neck and all the fucking press it would generate... plus all of the lousy senate hearings and shit they would have to go to over the next month or two...

The last thing Tony wanted to do was deal with it.  He slung an arm over Steve and pressed their bodies together, wanting Steve to know he wasn't going anywhere.

At least, thought Tony, Steve had all his omega friends to help him through the re-bonding situation.  Tony was at a loss as to who he should turn to for support. Pepper and Happy were betas, and Rhodey was unbonded.  Tony had no clue who could relate to what he was going through. Once again he was forced to acknowledge that he didn't have many close friends.

About three episodes in Steve fell asleep, his face pressed against Tony's shoulder. His body was still tired from fighting off the infection and he would need his strength for the weeks to come. After being in captivity for four days under bright lights to be able to sleep like was a luxury. And with Tony next to him he felt safe. He could feel that the other was worried, nervous... but then, so was Steve, and it was completely understandable. The next month would be pivotal and they only got one chance at it.

The day slid by lazily and Tony was grateful that Pepper kept her distance, remaining downstairs, like a ghost.  It seemed that Steve and Tony's friends appreciated that they needed some time to be alone with each other.

Around noon, Steve woke briefly; Tony had turned off the television. Steve didn't even really open his eyes. He was vaguely aware of covers being pulled up around them and resting his head against Tony's chest, his position being carefully maneuvered so the ridges of the arc reactor didn't press into his cheek. Steve mumbled something along the lines of Tony's name but nothing truly coherent came out. It was like his body had been completely drained and was now on a massive recharge.

He curled into Tony's touch on instinct as an arm snaked around his back, and fell into a truly deep sleep.

 _"Pathetic, your type. Only good for one thing_."

_Steve stumbled back as his eyes opened, his jaw throbbing as the taste of copper flooded his mouth. He blinked, gripping onto a control panel to steady himself. It was hard to stand, the ship they were on was at a tilt-- or rather the Tesseract had fucked up the floor so much it was no longer flat. Schmidt was stalking towards him with a murderous look in his eyes, his own teeth stained with red from when Steve had hit him._

_His shield was at least five meters away from him, leaning against a broken chair. Steve looked between it and Schmidt. He could make a run for it. Maybe._

_Johann growled and ran at him, all teeth and nail as he tried to force Steve to the floor. But Steve twisted in his grip, elbowing Schmidt in the side but then grunting as gnarled red fingers dug into his hair and wrenched his head back. "Oh no you don't. There's no getting out of this one, Captain.  I know what made you; I have it myself.  And I am the Alpha.  I am stronger than you."_

_He dragged him back towards the window and away from his shield. Steve kicked out. The pain was ungodly, but he twisted in his grip again (he was sure some of his hair must have torn from his scalp) and hooked a foot around Schmidt's ankle, knocking him to the floor. But the man had a strong grip on him and dragged Steve to the floor too. He kicked at Schmidt's jaw; a crunching sound followed and the man howled._

_Steve scrambled to get up in the direction of his shield. A hand grabbed onto his ankle and dragged him back. "Oh, no you don't!"_

_He kicked back with his other foot, catching the man in the shoulder. Steve managed to get up properly this time, and sprinted over to get his shield, Johann hot on his heels as he scrabbled after him. That's the thing they never warned you about war. It could be long, exhausting; not every confrontation was as simple as pulling the trigger faster than them. Steve's bones ached and his ribs let out sharp bursts of pain with every breath he took.  But there was no stopping.  It was a live-or-die situation.  Both of them were past their limits but they were forced to keep going, locked in battle with each other as the plane careened, unpiloted, toward both of their deaths.  
_

_Just as Steve grabbed his shield Schmidt was on him. He turned around and smacked the vibranium edge right into the man's face. Schmidt stumbled back, clutching at his face. Then he laughed. It was a low, deep sound that made a tremor run up Steve's spine. The man was goddamn insane. His laugh only grew louder and Johann shook his head. "This is what happens when you don't get broken in at a young enough age," he growled, his German accent crisp and piercing in Steve's ears. The words were guttural, slurred, sloshy; something in his head had clearly been broken, a part of the jaw, a sinus, who know.  Steve himself was sure he had breaks of his own.  His grip tightened on the shield._

_Then Johann lunged for the Tesseract. Steve smacked him back. He kicked him to the floor. And he kept hitting him with the face of the shield over and over and over again. When the red haze cleared Steve stopped and saw a bloody and battered Schmidt beneath him._

_He was still smiling. Steve shuddered._

_He hesitated, shield in hand._

_"W-what... what are you waiting for Captain, hm? Killing me won't change what you are. You're...you're an ab-bomination."_

_Steve stood straight, poised to slice the shield right through his spine._

_Then he stopped._

_Schmidt let out a pained sound, blood gurgling in his throat. He tried to speak. Nothing coherent came out._

_The side of the plane was partly torn away. Air whipped inside making it cold. Steve looked up. The sun was about to rise over the horizon. Johann said something else, Steve wasn't listening to him. He dropped the shield by his head on the floor and it clattered lightly._

_Steve walked over to the hole in the plane and placed a gloved hand on a torn out piece of metal. The sea looked calm beneath. The pink hue in the sky was pleasant. He breathed out slowly, evenly and shut his eyes. He held one foot out into the air, hesitating a moment, and then he stepped out, falling--_

Steve woke up before he hit the water and sat up straight immediately. His vision span for a moment but then he rubbed a hand over his face and collected himself. Tony was knocked out in bed beside him. The clock on the bedside table read; 5:34 AM in a soft blue light.  He'd been asleep for over twenty hours.

He carefully slipped out of bed and walked out to the wardrobe, grabbing a sweater and socks and trainers before he headed out (making sure the duvet was tucked over Tony's shoulders before he did so). "JARVIS?" Steve called out once he was in the corridor. "Please let Tony know I'm just at the beach if he wakes up and I'm not here."

"Of course Captain."

"Also... is there a phone I could use?"

* * *

_YOUTUBE VIDEO UPLOADED AT 6:23 AM - SHARED TO STEVE ROGERS' FACEBOOK PAGE_

_The video is a little grainy because it's dark but considering the poor light it's very good quality (thanks to the camera of the StarkTech phone). The image is Steve's face, the wind tickling through his hair. The sound of the sea rumbles distantly in the background. The light, dim, is almost purplish because of the oncoming sunrise. Steve doesn't look happy or sad, perhaps a little sleepy (but well rested)._

_"Hey, so...this is awkward. I mean, I've never done this before." Steve rubs a hand over his face. "I mean record myself; obviously, I've apologised for things before." He almost smiles. It's cute. "I hope this is recording, anyway.  This is like the fourth time I've tried.  Fourth time's a charm, right?"  
_

_Steve moves to sit down and the camera shakes a little, the image on his jumper for a brief moment before he angles it at his face again._

_"They want me to apologize on TV this Friday but I figure if I'm really sorry, like... why wait a week? Feels kind of disingenuous. And I kind of want to say my piece before everyone else jumps in to tell me what to say.  Because you all know that the statement I give Friday was written by a board of people, not me.  
_

_"So, I've had... a pretty interesting week. Interesting few months, I guess, but I think the last week is kind of when I royally screwed up. I know what people will say or think about it, that 'he went crazy because his alpha rejected him'. That I'm a hypocrite. That I'm not independent, or that I'm wrong about omega rights. But-- but if people use this as an excuse to undermine bonded pairs, or omegas as a whole, then I will be-- then I really won't ever forgive myself.  I screwed up but that doesn't mean all omegas are screw-ups.  And I never intended for what happened in Yemen to happen, either. But it still happened and I'm still responsible for it. And it got my friends in trouble too; they didn't deserve that. But it doesn't really feel like just being sorry is good enough right now."_

_Steve pauses._

_"Despite that, I still am.  Very, very sorry."_

_Steve's face gets a bit more serious, his brow pinching together. "So I want to make one thing very clear. I'm an omega from the forties. I was raised in a society that taught me I was property. Being good for your Alpha was all that mattered, you know? So I guess it hurt when things went wrong because I felt like I'd failed him. What I believe in and what I feel is right, in my heart, are two very different things. I always thought... loving someone is easy. But feeling loved is harder.  And as for feeling unloved-- that's like the worse feeling there is._

_"But feeling rejected isn't an excuse for doing what I did. But I also won't deny that it's partially why I did it. And I paid for it." Steve runs a hand over his face again, hesitating. "You're all going to find out anyway and I'd rather it come from me than anyone else so--"_

_He exhales slowly, letting out a long breath. "I was force-bonded in Yemen. I don't remember it happening. But you can see that it did on the back of my neck._

_"And on Friday, because the time is blocked out... I figured instead of me reading a script, we could do a fundraiser for an hour. I'm sure you guys don't want to listen to me droning on and on at you anymore. I found this charity in Yemen for children, of_ any _status," he adds quickly. "It's a charity that provides scholarships, helping kids who can't it afford get into university. It's worked a lot with the government in the past few years._

_"And I'm not saying this makes up for causing a sort of international crisis-- before anyone says that. It's just a gesture.  Of goodwill.  But it's more than just 'sorry' because I don't think that's going to cut it.  Actions speak louder than words, so I want to do an action._

_"Captain America represents a lot of things... and I haven't been_ any _of those things recently."  
_

_Steve pauses, the only noise in the background the tides of the ocean.  The purple, pre-dawn light is more golden now, his face more in focus._

_"The point I'm trying to make is... don't compare other omegas to me. I'm an example of the past. I'm not a good role model." Steve looks directly into the camera. "What I want to say is... don't let anyone ever tell you can't do something because of your status, or your bond, or that bond makes you weaker, or that you_ need _it for stability. You don't. You're your own person. You can do anything you goddamn want to and don't let anyone_ ever _tell you otherwise. And certainly don't let them use me as an example, because I'm not a good one."  He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do not hold other omegas against me. Please. They're better and stronger and more brilliant than someone like me even can be._

_"I'm an omega of the past, but you're the omegas of the future." Steve smiles a little again, the edge of his lips quirking up. His voice is a little thick with a emotion. The sun must be rising because there's an almost orange glow around him now and reflecting his eyes; it makes him look a lot warmer than he did at the start of the video. "And you're gonna kick ass."_

* * *

Pietro was walking down the street, hands in his pockets, holding two coffees, when an Alpha walked past him the other way.  They knocked shoulders, hard; Pietro stumbled and accidentally stepped into the gutter, dropping one of the paper cups.

"Hey!" he barked.

"Watch it, spade," said the man without turning.

Pietro stared in surprise.  He'd certainly been called a spade before, but that didn't make it any more shocking.  "Fuck you, man!" he managed.

The man whipped around.  " _What did you just say to me?"_

Pietro's eyes narrowed.  " _You_ walked into _me_!"

The man walked over, fury etched over his face.  "Didn't anyone ever teach you any fucking manners, punk?  Huh? You should've gotten out of my way, you little prick.  I'm an Alpha."

"You're an asshole," replied Pietro.

The man swung but hit nothing but air; Pietro had already moved.  He swung a second time; Pietro had already moved again. He caught the man's ankle with his foot and dropped him, then, lightning-fast, got in three sharp jabs on his face.

The man's demeanor had changed to one of terror.  "What the _fuck_?  How did you--"

"Don't _ever_ call me a spade again," snarled Pietro, and he spat out his gum before climbing off the man.

He turned; two people on the street were staring, one beta and one omega.

The other omega was grinning ear-to-ear; she caught Pietro's eye and gave him a cocky little salute.

" _Freak_!" yelled the Alpha, struggling to get up, his mouth tinged with blood.  "You're not a spade... you're an abomination, that's what you are! That's why you're not bonded!  No Alpha would want you! Because you're a _freak_!"

Pietro ignored him, walking hurriedly down the block, wanting to put some distance between them.  He hadn't meant to cause a scene but...

When he returned to the bare, depressing, cracked-pavement parking lot of the motel, he let himself in quickly.  The room was dim and smelled like musty disinfectant. Bucky was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, watching _Dora the Explorer_ , a show he liked because it gave very clear, simple instructions and lots of praise for following them correctly.  Currently, he was counting with Dora in Spanish.

".. _. siete... ocho... nueve... diez_ ," he finished.

"Ten strawberries. _Diez fresas._ Good counting!" said Dora.

"James, where's Wanda?" asked Pietro.

Bucky looked up sharply.  The smell of fear was sharp.  "What happened?"

"Nothing.  Where's my sister?  I have her coffee."

Bucky's brow furrowed.  "You both drink coffee."

"It's fine, I only got one today," said Pietro.  He was talking a little too fast. Bucky studied him.

On the television, Dora was saying, "You have to say _map_."

"Map," said Bucky automatically.

"Louder!"

" _Map_!  ...Pietro, did something happen?"

Pietro shook his head.  He wasn't just shaken. He was embarrassed.  And the last person in the world who could understand was probably Bucky, who was an Alpha, who had been raised a century ago, and whose mentality was simple and fractured.  "No. Everything is fine. Where's Wanda?"

Bucky pointed to the bathroom.

Pietro walked over, knocked on the door, and then let himself in.  Wanda was soaking luxuriously in a bath filled to the brim with bubbles, submerged up to her shoulders, her hair fanned out around her.  She opened her eyes and looked up at Pietro. Immediately she could tell something was wrong.

"Pietro?  What happened?"

"Nothing.  Here's your coffee."

Behind him, he could hear Boots and the Chocolate Tree wishing each other Happy Best Friends' Day; his jaw clenched.  " _James, can you turn off that stupid show_?"

Bucky switched channels.  On the news, a man in a red tie and a woman in a blue dress were talking, with a picture of a blond in the corner of the screen.  Bucky perked up excitedly. "My omega's on television!" he reported loudly.

Pietro was at Bucky's side in a flash.

"--charity fundraiser on Friday during his public address to benefit the Emergency Student Fund of the Institute of International Education, with the intent of aiding Yemeni and Syrian students of all statuses."

"Absolutely heartwarming, Diane.  And Stark Industries is going to be matching those donations dollar-for-dollar, according to a Tweet by CFO Virginia Potts."

"The thing that really fascinates me is just how humble--"

"--well, being an omega--" interrupted the man with a patronizing smile.

Diane laughed.  "I know, I know, it comes naturally to them, but still, _Captain America_ \--"

"Can we see that final clip again?  Put that up for us, Randy..."

The screen changed to a video.  Steve was smiling in the light of dawn, hair wind-swept by the ocean air, looking tired but content.  Bucky beamed at him, clutching the remote tightly to his chest.

"...I'm an omega of the past.  But you're the omegas of the future.  And you're going to kick ass," said Steve.

Bucky leaned in longingly, his heart aching for his omega, who looked tan and healthy and happy and brave.

Pietro stared at the television, face unreadable.  "...James," he said quietly. "...turn that garbage off."

* * *

"This is insane. I'm getting like twenty emails a minute. Serious," Aria muttered, tapping away at her tablet furiously. She was lying on the sofa with her feet in Steve's lap, the omega sitting with a towel around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his hands. His hair was still damp from the dip he'd taken in the sea.

It had been a tearful reunion which mainly consisted of Aria pulling Steve into the tightest hug and letting out a stream of expletives telling him to never ignore her texts again. It had been pretty similar to his reunion with Pepper, although that had involved far less swearing.

Pepper was seated on the sofa opposite to them. "Malick is requesting you see him this evening. I think he's pushing to the front of the queue."

Steve pulled a face and sipped at his coffee before leaning over to peer at the laptop on the table between them. There was multiple headlines popping up on the news stream, all of them suitably cheesy. "I guess, better to get it over and done with sooner and rather than later."

The phone he'd used earlier buzzed on the sofa arm.

It was from Phil. It made him smile.

_ > You nailed it, Steve. PC _

_ > Pretty sure I still won't be on Nick's Christmas card list. SR _

_> I'm just impressed you figured out how to upload a video to YouTube and share it on FaceBook. - PC_

Tony loped downstairs just before noon, his hair a mess, yawning sleepily.  He'd taken the time to put in contacts. Now that he had Steve back, he wasn't interested in looking like a hipster any longer.  It was back to sunglasses and goatees instead of regular glasses and beards.

Steve, Pepper, and Aria were in the living room, the girls on their phones and tablets, a laptop on the coffee table between them.  Steve's hair looked damp and he smelled like sea-salt; Tony's heart warmed a little at the sight of him.

"What's going on?" asked Tony sleepily.  "...Steve, did you make me coffee, too?"

"Sir, you have guests," announced JARVIS.

"Wha...?" began Tony, who hating speaking with anyone before noon.

He wasn't given a choice; Tiberius Stone, Boswell Mackabee, Thomas Banksy, Brent Walker, and Jeffrey Walker entered with a lot of loud cheers and congratulations.

Tony stood in the middle of the room, dumbfounded, having no clue what was going on.  Jeffrey and Brent both had babies strapped to their torsos; Jeffrey, the omega, untied the baby from its sling and handed it to Tony with a casual, "Here, can you hold her for me?" before going to hug Steve.

Suddenly there were people everyone and it was more than a little overwhelming. Steve laughed almost awkwardly as Banksy pulled him into a hug without any warning. He'd hoped for a positive reaction, sure, but he hadn't expected this kind of response. He sure hadn't expected a entire entourage to appear at their house, much less for it to include both Status Alliance and Horseshoe Society members. Still, he hugged Banksy back, Aria politely moving her feet back to the floor. The omega smelled of fancy cologne, a stark contrast to the earthy scent of salt and the sea all over Steve. He was still wearing the clothes he'd slept in but he didn't think anyone here really cared.

And if anyone noticed the marks on the back of Steve's neck no one said anything about it.

The color had drained out of Tony's face upon being handed a baby.  The baby was awake; it made a gurgling noise and a string of drool slid out of its mouth.  Tony tried to catch Pepper's eyes-- _oh, God, it's leaking fluid on me,_ he thought, panicking, but Pepper was cooing over the other baby that Brent was holding.  The babies were wearing matching pink knitted hats and were indistinguishable, except that the one strapped to Brent was asleep and the one Tony was holding was drooling copiously all over him, like some sort of retarded St. Bernard.  Tony was scared to move; he looked like Jeffrey had just handed him a nuclear bomb.

"We _loved_ it!" said Banksy.  He was wearing a lavender suit with a bright gold tie; he dropped into an armchair with a kick of his legs, shaking back his tiny ponytail and grinning.  "You are brilliant, Steve, oh my God, _so_ brilliant!"

"Brent got all choked up at the end there," agreed Jeff, shooting a teasing look over at his Alpha; Brent grinned helplessly and shrugged, bouncing the sleeping baby while Pepper fawned over it.

Tony was still trying to catch someone's eye, scared of the tiny human in his arms, which was flailing an arm around for no discernible reason.  Tony was pretty sure this baby was defective; he wished he'd been given the non-drooling, non-flailing variety.

"I just think it's a beautiful message and, oh my God, Stevie, we were all _so_ worried about you, but I saw that and I said to Bozzy, I _told_ you he was going to come back and fix things, he's _Captain America_ and you'd better _believe_ he's going to come out swinging... can't keep a good man down, that's what I said," rambled Banksy.

"Remi and Danielle are releasing a statement from SA this afternoon, we think everything you said was _just_ what the next generation of omegas needs to hear," said Tiberius.

"The Society is getting flooded with calls from people who want to help support you," said Jeff.  "It's all very positive, people are really responding to... well, the sincerity, I guess, it was very sincere--"

Tony opened his mouth to ask Pepper to remove the baby from his arms.

The baby on Brent's chest yawned in her sleep and Pepper nearly melted.  "Oh my God, she's _sooo_ pretty, look at her widdle _hat_!"

Tony had never heard Pepper use the word "widdle" and he was stunned into silence.

"Yeah, she got her mom's looks," said Brent with a grin.

"Hopefully my brains, too," said Jeff; Brent laughed.

Banksy and Tiberius both looked fascinated by this interaction; their experience with bonded omegas was largely negative, but Brent and Jeff had an easy way of getting along, as if they were unaware of each other's statuses.

Aria saw Tony looking a little lost with the baby and took pity on him. She walked over with her tablet and thrust it at him. "Here. Swap," she said. She took the baby with well-practiced ease. "I'm an auntie to twins," she explained simply and then nodded at the tablet. "Watch it. Then you might get what's going on here."

"I was wondering what kind of fund raiser you were planning on doing," Banksy piped up. "You've got a lot of options."

"Many artists have offered to perform, including a few comedians. We're thinking we pick the best, the ones most likely to draw in viewers," Pepper said. "And maybe slip Steve into a song or two, for the 'hype'." She gave Steve a warm look, but he looked slightly terrified at the idea.

"I don't know if that's-"

"Yes! Oh my God. Steve, you have to get out there," Jeff said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You'll do great."

Tony relaxed once Aria took the baby; he wiped the drool off of himself with a look of disgust.

Pepper, in contrast, had pulled the other baby out of its sling and was cuddling it happily.  Tony felt thoroughly uncomfortable watching his assistant go from a composed businesswoman to this giggly, baby-craze mess.

"Do I need to do anything on Friday?" asked Tony, hoping to recapture Pepper's interest.

"Stand there and look supportive... try not to cause any more trouble," said Pepper, barely looking at him.

"You know, this house really isn't exactly baby-safe..." said Tony, hoping to get Jeff and Brent to take their potato-trolls elsewhere.

"Oh, don't worry, they're not even three months old yet.  They can't crawl or even roll over," said Jeff.

"Well, what _can_ they do?" asked Tony, hoping everyone would come to their senses and realize how pointless the babies were.

The baby in Pepper's arms responded to his question by waking up and, without any warning whatsoever, vomiting all over Pepper.

"Oopsie," said Pepper simply.

"Oopsie?" repeated Tony.  " _Oopsie_?  When _I_ puke on you, you freak out!"

"Well, babies do that sometimes.  Ty, can you hold her while I get cleaned up?" asked Pepper, holding out the baby.  Tiberius stepped back, holding up his hands.

"Oh... no, no thank you, babies don't really like me.  My smell--"

"Nonsense, she's a beta, she can't tell.  Take her before I drip all over the carpet."  Pepper deposited the baby into Tiberius's arms and walked away; Tiberius looked down at the baby and several expressions passed over his face, finally settling on a combination of longing and adoration.

Tony scowled.  Surely it wasn't healthy to have this much estrogen in one room.  In between the women and the omegas, he was pretty sure they were mere minutes away from watching _Tootsie_ , and intervention was clearly necessary.

"So about this... fundraiser," said Tony, loudly, trying to redirect everyone's attention.

"Steve's going to use his press conference on Friday to raise money to help educate Yemeni and Syrian children.  Obviously Boz and I will help," said Banksy breezily, hands behind his head. "We can give you a few plugs on the show, since we're on Thursday night, and then help out the evening of.  And for once, I agree with Jeff... you should absolutely sing. You're good."

"Steve was in a barbershop quartet," offered Tony.

Banksy squealed.  "Shut _up_!  Are you serious?  Oh, that is so old-timey and cute!"

Tony's mouth twitched; he sidled up to Steve and put a hand on his shoulder, feeling a strange sense of pride in him.

"I'm really sorry about that... Carrie's got a touchy stomach, I should have warned you," said Brent as Pepper walked back in, wiping her blouse with a hand towel.

"No, no, it's fine, really," she insisted.  She reached for the baby in Tiberius's arms, but Tiberius gave such a desperate look of pleading that her arms dropped.  Tiberius had gotten strangely quiet since the baby had been passed to him and Tony wondered suddenly if he could have children.  Did you need a bonding gland to do that? Another question for Dr. Gleason.

"Are we going to have time to plan out a huge fundraiser by Friday?" he asked, remembering all the meetings Steve had.  He was supposed to see Dr. Gleason and Dr. Brennan and Dr. Brazinski daily, and those were just the doctors. Add in all the agencies who were launching an investigation and Tony had no clue how Steve would manage it.

"That's why we're here," said Jeff.  "The Horseshoe Society is volunteering sixty full-time coordinators."

"And Status Alliance is also donating a hundred," said Banksy.

"We figured Aria would delegate out the tasks to us, and we'd be able to get the whole thing off the ground for you, while you're being harassed by the government," said Jeff.  "Oh, and Brent's got a legal team all set up for you and Tony."

Brent offered a grin.

Tony was still largely confused about what was going on with this charity thing and why everyone was in such a good mood.  Pepper must have sensed his confusion because she shoved her tablet into his hands. On the front page of her news feed, headlines read: _CAPTAIN AMERICA'S VIRAL VIDEO: APOLOGIES AND ENCOURAGEMENTS TO OMEGAS MET WITH NATION-WIDE SUPPORT._

"...you know, I don't really like it when things happen before noon.  Why does he always have to do crap like this before noon?" muttered Tony, clicking the video and wandering toward the kitchen as the baby he considered defective stopped flailing and began crying.

Watching the video was hard.  Not as hard as the other video Steve had released, the one when Tony had kicked him out.  But nonetheless difficult. Steve's talk of feeling rejected and unloved made Tony feel like a piece of shit.  It was a miracle that people didn't loathe him, he thought. Pepper and Aria and all of Steve's omega friends had every right to after what he'd put Steve through.

"I'm not singing live on television," Steve said in the living room, arms crossed, while everyone chatted about their ideas for the impromptu fundraiser.  The thought quite clearly scared him. He did _not_ look impressed at the idea. Sure, he'd sung on a New Year's...to a room full of drunk people. That was different.

"Oh come on," Aria said, sitting down next to him with a wriggling baby in her arms. Steve reached out a hand, and short fat fingers reached out to grab his thumb tightly. Steve smiled. "You fought in WWII!This should be a walk in the park."

"What would I even sing?" Steve asked, raising a brow.

"Party in the USA!" Banksy exclaimed and Boswell rolled his eyes.

"He'll want to sing something much classier than that."

Steve ignored their bickering in turn of giving attention to the baby. She was adorable and the way she gripped his thumb like a vice made Steve's heart melt. Aria grinned at him. "What?" he asked, looking up and meeting her eyes.

"You know, if you're not with SHIELD now, you could totally make yourself one of these."

Steve rolled his eyes fondly at the phrasing.

"You know Tony doesn't want one." Aria opened her mouth to respond but Steve continued, "and there's nothing wrong with that. It's fine."

"Maybe...maybe you could get a cat, or something," Aria suggested.

Then the baby started crying and Aria stood, rocking the baby gently in her arms as she cooed at it. Aria certainly didn't go all gooey-eyed at the babies like Pepper and Ty but she knew what she was doing with them.

The space was freed up so Banksy dropped down next to Steve. He gave him a tired sort of smile. "Hey I thought... I thought what you said this morning was really brave. About, you know--"

The back of his neck throbbed in agreement. Steve swallowed.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. "Well, they were going to find out anyway."

Banksy nodded sombrely. "But you don't owe them any details Steve. Or any explanations, remember that."

In the kitchen, Tony made himself a Bloody Mary to compose himself after watching the video and then went back to the living room to interrupt the omegas' little conference.  He walked up behind Steve and leaned in to murmur into his ear.

"Hey, Steve?  ...I know you guys all have a lot to catch up on, but... I wanna... y'know, spend time with you.  You wanna go hang out on the pool deck for a while? ...just us?" asked Tony quietly. Pepper, Aria, Jeff, Boswell, and Banksy were comparing notes for Friday, while Brent was talking about the babies to Tiberius, who had the same gooey look on his face as Pepper had while she was holding the baby.  Tony still didn't get it. Fortunately, he assumed if Steve kicked out the babies' handlers, then the babies would also be leaving.

Steve nodded back and then looked up at Tony's hand on his shoulder just as Banksy got drawn in Pepper and Aria's organizational planning. The touch of the Alpha's hand was warm and grounding. "Yeah, I think some air," he said softly, and reached up to take the hand.  He let Tony lead them out; the others had this; they wouldn't mind if he and Tony disappeared for ten minutes or so.

The sun on the deck was warm even if the actual temperature outside wasn't. His hair now dry, Steve dropped the towel from around his shoulders over the backs of one of the deckchairs. It felt good to get away. He was glad they were here.  Of course he was, but it was a little overwhelming all the same.

"I really don't know how I'm supposed to see Malick today after all this," Steve sighed, feeling weary. "I don't even like him."

Tony walked out into the sunshine, blinking a little.  The last two months indoors in Colorado had ruined his tan, something he maintained by doing a lot of lounging by the pool, partially inebriated.

"Malick... Malick..." repeated Tony, trying to remember who the hell that was.  "...oh, right, Gideon. He was at that presidential dinner. You know, all of those World Council people seem like they have a stick up their asses.  Him, Fury, Pierce, the one Chinese guy-- Yen? Yin? Something like that. And the chick and the other three. ...they're all uptight. And not an omega in the bunch.  ...you can handle him, though, Steve. I mean, we're both basically fired from SHIELD and they can't throw you in jail, the people would riot. He'll probably just bitch at you and that'll be there."

Tony flopped down onto a deck chair and held out an arm, inviting Steve to lie down with him.  He was still holding the Bloody Mary in his other hand, though he was nearly finished with it.

"...Steve... I watched that video and... Steve, I'm sorry I'm such a douchebag.  I'm sorry you don't feel loved. I'm trying my best but I'm... you know. Me. You know I love you, right?"  Tony looked at the surface of the pool, unable to meet Steve's eyes.

Steve followed Tony's gaze out into the water.

"It's not about if you love me Tony," he said softly. "It's about if you love me more than you hate what he did." His neck was mostly healed now, the scar pink with newly healed skin. Two distinct shapes had emerged, overlapping, one much clearer than the other.  Once it was completely better, it wouldn't even be obvious there was two bites at a distance; it would only become clear to those who peered hard enough. But they _would_ peer, and stare, and gossip. That was the problem.

Steve slowly moved to lie down with him, Tony's arm warm as it wrapped around his shoulders. Steve ended up curled on his side, hand on Tony's chest. He studied the curve of the arc reactor under his t-shirt intently. In the sunlight it was hard to make out its glow.

But Steve knew it was there. 

* * *

They ended up seeing the video.  Everyone had, really; it played over and over on the news and with their frequent visits to bus terminals and complimentary continental breakfasts at seedy motels, they couldn't easily avoid it.

This had raised a pressing concern.

"We can't just get rid of him, Wands.  Come on, he's sick..."

"He force-bonded that omega, Pietro.  _You're_ an omega."

"I can handle myself," said Pietro, arms crossing, leaning back against the railing.  Their room was on the second floor. Below them, the early March weather was slushy and wet.  It was cold out, but there was no privacy inside their motel room; they'd gone outside to argue about Bucky after seeing the clip on the news yet again.  Bucky was currently happily engaged with an episode of Blue's Clues, another show that he liked because it gave simple, clear instructions and ample praise for following them.

"Oh, what, you think because you're fast, you're better than Captain America?  I bet Captain America thought he could handle himself, too!"

Pietro ran a hand through his silver-blond hair.  "...look, I saw them, I don't... I don't think it was _forced_ -forced, I mean, they were both practically naked and Rogers was... he _wanted_ it."

"Because he was in heat!  And when you cycle in one or two months, then what, Pietro?  You'll 'want' it--" Wanda made little bunny ears with her fingers.  "--you'll 'want' it and he doesn't have the ability to say no. Then what?"

"...I don't know, I'll just... I'll take a bunch of suppressants or something..."

"You _know_ that won't work!"  Pietro's metabolism was such that most medications didn't.  Or at least, if they did, his body processed them so quickly that they had no lasting effect.  Pietro looked away glumly, knowing that Wanda was right.

"I don't know.  It feels wrong to just... abandon him."

"He's not a dog, Pietro.  He can take care of himself," said Wanda gently.  "But it's not safe for him to be around you."

"Can't you control him, when I'm in heat?"

"...I can control people for two, three minutes.  Not days, Pietro. ...we have to get rid of him. He attacked that omega; that could have been you."

"He's not _dangerous_.  He's like us.  He's..."

Wanda raised an eyebrow.  "...dangerous."

Pietro sighed, dragging a hand over his face.  "Please, just let me think of something. I don't want him to go back to that Karpov man.  You know if we leave he'll end up looking for him. And with his training, he'll probably find him."

"Why don't we send him on a... what do the Americans call it... a duck chase."

"Goose chase.  ...perhaps. But I'm not due for at least a month.  Can't we at least keep him until then? He's a valuable ass--"  Pietro caught himself, but Wanda had already heard what he was about to say.

Her look grew stormy.  "You're no better than he is!" she snapped, and she whirled and stomped off.  Since they'd been traveling with the damaged Alpha, Pietro noticed they'd been fighting a lot more than ever before.  They had never had a third party before and it was interrupting the dynamic they'd developed over the years. The fact that the third party was a member of the binary status groups (as opposed to a neutral "beta") was making things worse, because Pietro and he could smell each other, while Wanda couldn't.

He could have gone after her, but instead he walked back into the motel room with a sigh, where Bucky was draped over the couch, helping the on-screen Steve and his cartoon dog look for clues.

* * *

Banksy was stretching to peek out the back windows.

"...leave 'em alone, Tommy," said Boswell.  "...they need alone time."

"He's handling the whole thing well, isn't he?" said Tiberius, still cradling one of the babies.

Pepper frowned at her tablet.  The first negative story had finally surfaced, courtesy of Vice: _THREE ALPHAS AND COUNTING FOR CAP._  "...he's trying his best," she said neutrally, well-aware of the media storm brewing.  They'd gone crazy when they found out Steve had been bonded and then rebonded. Now that he'd let everyone know he was force-bonded, there was sure to be an awful lot of blowback.

Pepper gave Aria a nudge with her elbow and pointed quietly.  She assumed the two of them would be handling the media; it would be unfair to ask Steve to do so after such a traumatic experience.

Banksy was watching her closely.  "...if he needs someone who knows what it's like, I'm here.  ...let him know, will you?" he said softly, in a low voice. Pepper nodded.  Like Tony, she had grown up with Banksy and Boswell; knowing how they had come to be bonded had radically changed her perception of them.  She was still unclear on who arranged the bonding and how, but hadn't asked; that was ancient history and Banksy seemed happy enough with his Alpha now.  Still. Being part of Tony's rich, gilded, rose-glass-filtered world meant her perspective had grown somewhat naive. Knowing how prevalent forced-bonding was made her skin crawl.

"There's more," Aria said softly, a sombre look on her features as she pulled up all the negative headlines so far on her tablet. She scrolled through so Pepper could see.

 _CAPTAIN AMERICA ASSAULTED?!_ (Not necessarily negative, but certainly insensitive.)

_BONDING TWO ALPHAS IN LESS THAN A YEAR: WHERE'S AMERICA'S VIRTUE NOW?_

_CAP NEEDS AN ALPHA_

_CAP: OUR NATIONS HYPOCRITE_

_STEVE ROGERS: FERAL AND TRIPLE-BONDED_

There was many more that all continued on with the same sort of tone.

"How can they even say this?" Aria shook her head, her voice a little thick. "Don't they know what the goddamn word _forced_ means? It means it's no one else's goddamn business! ...I mean, I still think he did the right thing by telling them; we couldn't have hidden it for long."

Tiberius peered over at the headlines. "You know, most of those papers are intended for Alpha readership."

"Ugh.  And Tony's an Alpha and he's going to see them and he's going to end up on one of his little self-pity binges," grumbled Pepper.

"Maybe he's learned his lesson," said Aria brightly.  She obviously didn't believe it, but was clearly hoping to assuage Pepper's concerns.

Banksy peeked out the window again.  "You know what?  I think maybe he has."

Outside, Tony and Steve were cuddled up on a lounge chair by the pool.  Tony looked down at Steve.  In order to be held, Steve had to curl up a little, and Tony had to stretch, but they managed.  Steve's eyes were on the barely-visible outline of Tony's arc reactor. Tony's gaze followed his.

"...Steve... I told you... about stuff, in the hospital.  Stuff I never told anyone else." He paused. "I know it's not your fault.  Him biting you, that sucks but it doesn't change who you are, not to me, anyway.  Just like how what happened to me doesn't change who I am to you. ...hopefully." Another pause.  "...the public doesn't know about Bucky being the Winter Soldier. They still think your first mate is some guy in his nineties.  They're gonna think you have like, at least three Alphas now. And they're probably gonna be dicks about it. But I'm not going to let that come between us again.  What me and you have?  That's enough.  Whatever anyone else thinks about it, I don't care.  This is perfect.  This is enough."  Tony paused. Things were getting a bit heavy for his taste. "...besides, I can't do another two and a half months in Colorado. My tan's already ruined. Another two months and I'll end up looking albino.  Gross."

Tony nosed Steve's hair a little.  His smell was still very Steve-ish but it had changed, very, very slightly.  It was all the more unsettling for how subtle it was than if it had changed radically.  It was... uncanny. 

Tony had talked to Gleason about this; since he'd bonded Steve, smells had changed. Gleason said that was normal; most Alphas became tuned to their omegas and consequently disinterested in other omegas after bonding.  Tony had observed, over the last eight months, that omegas in pre-heat and post-heat no longer fascinated him as they once had. Steve's smell, on the other hand, was intoxicating. But now, with the renewed bond, Steve's body was re-adjusting itself to Bucky's chemical preferences.  His smell was still attractive to Tony, still a siren's song. But Tony was all too aware that Steve's body had made known its preference. Biologically, Steve's body wanted the better Alpha: the one more able to protect him and to sire children.

Tony huffed a little, thinking about children.  What the hell was Aria's problem, suggesting kids?  Ugh. Tony didn't even want the Walkers' little gnomes in his living room; in only fifteen minutes, one of them had already vomited all over his assistant, which Tony took personal offense to, since he considering vomiting on Pepper to be something only he was allowed to do.  Worse, the babies were making Pepper say things like "widdle" and "oopsie," which made Tony's feel very unsettled.

Steve sighed very softly, and Tony's attention was back on him, immediately.

"... _babe.  I got you, babe_ ," hummed Tony softly.  A pause. "...that's a very famous Sonny and Cher song.  ...remind me to play it for you, okay?" Tony smiled a little.  "...if you're too scared to sing on television alone, I'll sing with you," he added deviously.  Tony, unlike Steve, was perfectly comfortable performing on live television. The fact that he couldn't actually sing had never deterred him before; Tony just liked the attention.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, Pietro's attention was fixed on Bucky, while Bucky's was fixed on the television.  On the morning news, three hosts were discussing Steve. All three were Alphas (though an omega had made a brief, silent appearance earlier to refill their coffee mugs) and they were talking about how disgraceful it was for Steve to be wontonly bonding and encouraging sexual promiscuity among omegas.  He was, they said, a bad influence. Bucky's hair was bristling at the way they clucked their tongues; how dare they insult his omega.

Pietro was used to Alphas talking about omegas like this, like they were unruly children, and aside from a mild sense of irritation, it didn't really affect him much.  He was more interested in Bucky's reaction. He'd heard the clip of Steve saying he was force-bonded at least a half-dozen times; it was splashed all over the headlines.  And he couldn't get the image of his head of the wall, smeared with blood, the one where Steve had written, bold and sharp: _I DO NOT CONSENT_.

Had it really be forced?  Pietro was sure Bucky would do all sorts of awful things if instructed, without even a second thought.  For the first time since they'd met, Pietro felt uneasy around the Alpha. Wanda was right; he was unaccountably strong, treated with a serum similar to Steve's... with the prosthetic arm, he was almost unstoppable.  If he wanted to take an omega, even one like Captain America, he probably could. Pietro was fast but if Bucky got the upper hand or the element of surprise, that was that.

Pietro was hoping, though, that the truth was that it hadn't been forced.  Hadn't they already been bonded?

...unless that first time...

A low growl was rumbling in Bucky's throat at the television.

"James.  Why'd you do it?  Why'd you bond him?"

Bucky blinked and looked over.  "...I dunno. Seemed like the right thing to do.  We were living together, sharing a bed... he didn't have anyone else after his ma died.  He needed an Alpha and we'd been pals for years..."

"Pity?  Is that it?  Pity?" asked Pietro, unable to keep the note of disgust out of his voice.

Bucky's eyes narrowed.  "...that's what everyone thought.  I was a good student and an athlete and a boxing champ down at the Y... all the girls swooned when I walked down the street.  I could've had any omega I wanted. When I took Steve, the people that knew, they said _what a waste_.  As if there was nothing more important than an omega who could keep house and have kids."  Bucky's voice was surprisingly bitter and heartfelt. Pietro didn't speak, unwilling to break the spell; it was rare for Bucky to speak this lucidly about his past.  "...as if I couldn't love him, even though he was sick and small. Yeah, he wasn't perfect. No one's perfect. That's not why I did it, to have kids or anything like that.  I knew he couldn't. I knew he was always gonna be sick. I did it 'cause I loved him. And he loved me. And maybe I was a fool for thinking it, but... whenever I came home and I saw him smile, I always thought that that was enough."  Bucky looked back up at the television, where Steve was smiling; they were replaying the final clip from his video.

Bucky's eyes watered and his left hand clenched and unclenched, the gears inside it clicking softly.  "...yeah. I knew I'd probably never get to mate him. After we bonded, he got sick all over again. That was Stevie, always gettin' a fever.  If you sneezed at him or even look at him the wrong way, he'd be down for a week. I knew he was lousy omega but I just didn't care. It wasn't pity.  I loved him. ...and I thought that was enough."


	40. Dinner with Malick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In downtown Los Angeles, Bonaventure is a real place and on the 34th floor there really is a revolving restaurant, called the Bona Vista lounge. I'm happy to report it's not "Alphas only" and is actually quite welcoming, so if you're ever in town, check it out. And the crème brûlée there really is incredible. I highly recommend it. Also in this chapter, Bethany Cabe, ladies and gentlemen... plus an Iron Man 1 Easter Egg. - T

Out on the pool deck, Tony was staring at the perfectly calm, clear surface of his pool. 

"I know it's not your fault.  Him biting you, that sucks but it doesn't change who you are, not to me, anyway.  Just like how what happened to me doesn't change who I am to you. ...hopefully."

Steve stared incredulously as Tony continued to ramble about Bucky, about what the media thought, about a couple named Sony and Cher.  As usual, Tony was burying the heavy stuff under pop culture references.

And as usual, Steve had no clue what he was talking about and was not going to let him off that easy.

"Tony, I would _never_ see you any differently for that. If anything, it makes me see you as a stronger person," Steve said, clearly horrified at the idea. When he'd first spotted the mark on Tony's neck (one night when he'd helped Pepper drag a drunk and passed out Tony into bed) he hadn't been disgusted or repulsed by it; he'd been curious. He'd wondered if maybe Tony was like Sam.  He had admittedly considered assault, idly, but that hadn't made him see Tony in a remotely bad light in any way, shape, or form. "And it's okay... I don't think I have the energy to care what the papers think of me anymore. I told them the truth.  Or at least, everything _I_ know. I don't remember a lot. If that's not enough for them, then, well...I have nothing left to give them anyway."

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, so about you singing at this charity thing," said Tony, who was still determinedly staring out at the pool and not looking at Steve.  Curled up on a deck chair together, Tony's arms around Steve, it was tranquil.  Steve decided not to ruin the peace by pressing the subject of Tony's experiences in Afghanistan.  Tony brought it up rarely, and tended to bury it immediately.  If that was how he dealt with it, then that was his own prerogative. 

Steve sighed.

"I'll do it. It's fine. I get why they want me to sing. If I can take down a extremist Nazi regime in the forties then I can sing on a goddamn stage, and if I make a fool out of myself, I'll handle it.  It's for a good cause, right? Although, I do refuse to sing _Party in the USA._ There's no way I'm dancing too to top it all off." Steve tried for a smile. This one made it to his eyes.

Steve curling up against Tony like this worked because of his flexibility. Maybe now if he was going to work out less intensely he could pick up something like yoga- something _calming_. He knew Sharon (or at least, "Kate the nurse," her undercover alias) swore by it. She said it got her through the day to day.  Steve traced his fingertips around the curve of the arc reactor idly, his expression becoming distant. "I know you said sex wasn't a big to deal to you," he whispered. "But it's a big deal to me. That only you've touched me."

"...I'm glad," said Tony quietly.  "...that it means something to you."  He watched Steve tracing the arc reactor, wondering if Steve appreciated that, for Tony, letting anyone touch his chest like this meant a hell of a lot more than sex did.  For Tony, this was the epitome of intimacy. "...I hope you don't regret it. Us bonding. I'm... kind of a jerk, yeah. I mean, devastatingly handsome and staggeringly intelligent, not to mention quick-witted and insanely good in bed... but also a jerk."  He reached up to hold Steve's hand on his chest. "...I think you make me a better person, though."

There was only one other person Tony truly believed made him a better person, and that was Pepper.  Tony's ego may have been huge, but so were his insecurities; one of his driving forces was for constant _betterment_.  Steve made him feel like he was on the right track.

If only he'd been able to recognize that before pushing Steve away and letting some other Alpha...

Tony huffed, aware of a prickling on the back of his neck.  Thinking about it made him angry. He didn't want to be angry, and he didn't want to think about it.  It was over and Tony had always considered denial to be one of the best ways to deal with things. Besides... Tony wasn't interested in getting involved in a dominance battle.  He knew he'd lose. Tony wanted to define the rules so that he would win; he wanted to do what Bucky couldn't, be there for his omega. If Steve chose Tony, consciously, then who cared what the damned mark looked like... right?

And also, Tony took some comfort in what Steve had said about sex.  So Bucky definitely hadn't mated him, hadn't touched him. Good.

There was the noise of a door opening; Tony looked over lazily.  Pepper was peeking out. "Steve, Gideon Malick wants to meet with you this evening."

"I know what song Steve should do.  ... _Beautiful_ , by Christina Aguilera.  It's gotta be like, you know, sort of serious but also uplifting.  That's perfect, right?"

Pepper frowned.  "Well, no, but that's not what I'm asking.  Aria needs to know where you want to--"

"Why isn't that perfect?" asked Tony, sitting up.

Pepper sighed.  "...for one thing, I doubt Steve would be able to hit any of the high notes.  That's a very challenging--"

"Okay, look, first of all, he's an omega, he can hit the notes.  Second, if he can't, no one will care because he's Steve Rogers. Third, there's auto-tune."

"Thank you, Tony, but we're actually trying to coordinate Steve's meeting with one of the members of the World Security Council, not choose a song for Steve to sing."

"Get us reservations at the Bonaventure Lounge," said Tony.  "We'll have coffee, it's a nice view... classy but casual... Steve, it's great, you'll love it, it's this revolving cocktail lounge downtown."

"Once again, thank you, Tony, but that lounge is..."  Pepper trailed off.

"...awesome?" supplied Tony.

"...Alphas only," said Pepper apologetically.

"...since _when_?  No, that place lets in omegas, I was there like last year and I remember there was an omega!"

"That was the waiter, Tony," said Pepper, sounding exhausted from arguing with him.

Tony looked bewildered.  He'd never had much to do with omegas and as an Alpha, he was often caught off-guard by the number of establishments that still barred omegas.  Of course, it was technically illegal to claim a business didn't allow omegas, thanks to anti-discrimination laws, but people knew perfectly well which places were still unofficially single-status or anti-omega.  Omegas steered clear of those places.

"...but Steve's allowed to go if I'm with him, right?  I mean, we're bonded, I'm his Alpha..." Most modern Alpha-only clubs at least made an exception for bonded pairs.

Pepper's face twisted a little.  "...you're... not really his primary Alpha anymore, though.  I mean, he just admitted that to the entire world this morning."

Tony's expression, one of bewilderment, changed to one of devastation, followed rapidly by determined annoyance.  "Well, I don't give a fuck, Steve doesn't need a fuckin' handler anyway." He settled back into the lounge chair, pouting.

Pepper looked sorry for bringing it up.  "...so... where do you want to meet?" she said to Steve after a moment, trying to steer the conversation back to business.  "Malick's going to be in town by five so I was thinking six-thirty for dinner reservations."

Steve sat up and thought about it for a moment, looking between a pouting Tony and an expectant Pepper. "I mean, the revolving place sounds pretty cool," he said.

"You sure?"

"If you're not defying status roles while you're getting dinner then what's the point, right?" Steve said, a small smile on his lips. Pepper smiled back. Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. "Is that... what people are calling him, my primary Alpha?" he asked, not sounding happy about it.

"A lot of people are saying a lot of things Steve. Most of it isn't true."

"Surely I get to decide who my primary Alpha is, not biology, right?"

Tony knew what Pepper meant about primary Alphaship and although he appreciated Steve's sentiments, he was inclined to disagree.  It wasn't his mark on Steve's neck anymore. Steve could call it whatever he wanted but Tony knew that's what everyone would say.  That he'd failed the test of dominance.  That Steve was no longer entirely "his."

In answer to Steve's question, Pepper told him, "Aria's organizing you another interview with _The_ _Times_ at your earliest convenience. So you can offer some rebuttal to all the bullshit." She hesitated by the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize what that sounded like before I said it." She sounded sincere and something warmed in Steve's chest.

"It's fine," he assured her. And then Pepper disappeared back inside, bringing the phone back up to her ear.

"Steve! Steve! We're leaving!" Banksy stuck his head out and waved a hand, drawing them both back inside. The babies had been returned to their parents and Aria was taking down everyone's' personal contact details. "We'll leave you two to it; I imagine you must be very busy. And we'll get on everything for Friday."  Banksy pulled him into a tight hug. "We're here for you. Don't ever forget that. You're not alone," he murmured in his ear and then pulled back with an almost sad smile on his features. Boswell shook his hand and didn't hung him, his fingers dry against Steve's warm palm. Jeff also hugged him and Ty offered him an awkward but sentimental pat on the shoulder.

He turned to Tony and said, "You look after him." And there was a warmness edging into Ty's tone that Steve hadn't heard before.

Tony was relieved to see the babies were re-slinged and about to leave. Everyone said good-bye to Steve while Tony hovered; he smiled when Ty addressed him.

"We'll look after each other," said Tony, and offered Ty a hand.  They gave each other a friendly shake. Tony was getting used to the creepiness of his smell.

Aria shooed them toward the stairs while Pepper herded Steve's crew toward the front door.

"Happy will be taking you in half an hour," Aria said, ushering them up the stairs even before the last of the omega-rights entourage had left the room. "Go get ready. And Steve, take a shower."

"A half-hour?" repeated Tony, looking down at his watch.  "...aw, shit." The day had flown by. Tony wasn't even dressed properly.  While Steve showered, he swapped out his t-shirt for a clean black v-neck that perfectly framed the arc reactor and his sweatpants for a pair of jeans.

Steve took the shower and almost felt shy when he stepped back out of the bathroom in just his towel (which was ridiculous). How many times had Tony seen him naked now? Steve didn't know. But then he supposed this was the longest they had gone without having sex _ever_ and now Steve had someone's else's teeth permanently imprinted into the back of his neck.

He sighed when he saw himself in the mirror, still looking a little pale.

"Is any of yours left?" asked Steve, craning, trying to look at the mark in the mirror.  An impossibility.

"A little bit, yeah.  They sorta overlap," said Tony.  "His is... more prominent.  But maybe that's just 'cos it's more recent."  There was a note of hopefulness in his voice; Steve suspected Tony had been thinking about it a lot.

Steve grabbed his towel and pulled it up to dry his hair before moving to select clothes. Normally he wouldn't care all that much. But he was going to an 'Alpha' bar and he needed to dress for it. People might take pictures of him, too, and Steve wanted to make it clear that he was coming back fighting. He was not a victim.  He was Captain America.

He settled for black slacks, a white shirt, and an electric-blue jacket that had a conveniently high collar at the back. His neck wasn't even healed yet. And the thought of people taking pictures of it and pointing it out in the news, that made him feel sick.

Tony stole a few peeks at Steve when Steve removed the towel to fluff his hair out.  His body looked as perfect as ever. The bite on the back of his neck had healed rapidly and was now a shiny pink. It disappeared under a high-collared jacket.  Yes, Tony had decided, the other mark would certainly fade.  It only looked bad because it had been infected.  That was all.

"...you look great," said Tony.  He came up behind Steve, who was trying to get his hair was getting overly fluffy, as it tended to do.  Tony pulled his fingers through his own hair, slicking it back, and popped on a pair of sunglasses, nodding at himself approvingly.

Aria yelled up the stairs: "Two minutes, boys!"

The moment they descended the stairs, Pepper let out a noise of protest.  "Oh, no. No, no, you two aren't wearing that. I had to reserve the entire lounge due to security concerns, and the media's going to be all over the place.  Tony, at least put on a tie."

"Do you have any idea how stupid that's gonna look with a v-neck?" said Tony breezily, raising an eyebrow.

" _Put on a button-up_!  Both of you!  No jeans, no t-shirts!  Steve, wear your uniform, this is a business meeting and there's already a dozen news vans staking out the place..."

"How can I wear the Cap costume when I've been fired?" Steve deadpanned.

"It's a _symbol_ Steve," Pepper protested. "The shield is still yours. And you need to look like you mean business."

"I'm going to look like a jerk who still thinks I have the right to be Cap when I _don't_." Steve frowned and Aria appeared beside Pepper, a hand on her friend's arm before she could protest any further.

"That outfit is fine, Steve.  Just help Tony with his."

Tony groaned, turning back toward the stairs.  "I'm still gonna wear my chucks!" he yelled down at Pepper.

"Wear flip-flops for all I care, just put on a tie!" she yelled back.  A moment later, she added, " _Don't you dare try to wear flip-flops_!" 

The two retreated back upstairs to change and Aria shot Pepper an awkward sideways look. "I think he's giving Sam Wilson his shield. He's been talking about it. I don't think he thinks he deserves it anymore, or whatever. Besides, he can't even use it now anyway I guess..."

They both didn't mention that if Steve wore his uniform people would be able to see the back of his neck.

Steve glanced at the uniform in the closet and his chest burned with the overriding feeling of shame that he felt. He suddenly realized he was an international news story; had Peggy heard about this? What did she think? Jesus. He'd disappointed her. He'd let her down...and that hurt more than anything else. Steve hadn't realized he'd been standing in the doorway with a pair of trousers in his hands for over two minutes until he was pulled back by the sound of Tony's voice.

"Steve?  Steve, are you okay?"

He didn't actually hear what he said.

"Sorry, I... drifted off for a moment there," Steve said quietly, pushing the pants into Tony's arms and fastening his shirt one button higher for the sake of smartness.

As Tony buttoned up his own shirt and slipped a tie around his neck (he left it undone for Pepper to tie), he was suddenly hit with a wave of shame and hurt and... _smallness_.

It was Steve's feelings, he realized. 

Tony frowned and looked back up at Steve, who was fiddling with his collar.

"Steve.  Hey, Steve."  Tony put his phone away and reached out to grab Steve's hands.  "Look at me. Listen. ...you have absolutely no reason at all to feel ashamed or humiliated or guilty.  What happened to you was fucked up but it doesn't make you any less of the obnoxiously idealistic, courageous, selfless person that you are.  Stop trying to hide the mark. It's there and we're not going to act like we're ashamed of it, because we're not, okay? I already let the media come between me and you once before, and it was the worst fucking decision of my life, and it was what caused all this in the first place.  You walk in there with your head held high and do what you do best: be the bigger man. And I'll be right there beside you. As your secondary, considerably shorter, not-especially-dominant Alpha." Tony gave a self-depreciating grin. Despite having initially been joking, Tony suddenly realize he was dead serious.  "...let's go rattle some cages," he said firmly, and he led Steve back downstairs, feeling, for once, extremely dominant, actually.

After Tony's rather moving pep talk Steve had moved to flatten the collar of his jacket down, a lump in his throat threatening to form from emotion.

Tony and Steve's phones went off simultaneously at the top of the stairs; Tony checked his.

_ > Malick is going to be baiting you to try to discredit you.  Remember: WSC oversees SHIELD. They are not happy. Don't give them anything.  - Nick _

"...shit," he muttered as they clamored downstairs.

"...much better," said Pepper when the two of them descended.  Tony had gone with a full suit.  Pepper walked over to tie his tie for him automatically.

"Eldridge," commanded Tony.

"Already on it," said Pepper, concentrating as she tied up the knot.  "...there. Okay. Now, listen. I'm not going to sugar-coat this. Steve, people love you but there's a lot of backlash from the more conservative side of things.  You caused a political crisis and frankly you're getting away with it, and being an omega, there's a lot of protests. So I want both of you to be aware that there's going to be protesters outside of Bonaventure and they're going to be saying a lot of nasty things and holding a lot of nasty signs.  Happy, Tom, Marco, Daston, Ido, and Bethany are your detail."

"Wait, hold on.  Instead of giving us six bodyguards, why don't I just take the Mark IV?" suggested Tony.

"...because you're going to meet one of the leaders of the World Security Council and bringing a weapon of mass destruction might send the wrong message," said Pepper, raising an eyebrow.

"But I'm with Steve.  Steve can kick ass, I don't need--" whined Tony.

" _You're going with the guards, Tony."_  Pepper's voice left no room for negotiation.  Tony dropped it, looking sour. He knew that there was no point in arguing.  At least he could say, truthfully, that he liked all the bodyguards. Except maybe Bethany.  Well, no, that wasn't true, he liked Bethany a lot. Too much, actually. He'd slept with her years ago, had a whirlwind affair, been briefly engaged (for literally less than twenty-four hours), released a sex tape with, and gotten into multiple out-and-out drunken fistfights, some publicly, before finally breaking up.  Tony hadn't seen her in over a decade and could only conclude that Pepper's inclusion of her on guard detail was probably some sort of petty revenge. They'd never gotten along. Probably because they were both redheads and Tony frequently dropped hints about which one was his "favorite" in the hopes of sparking a sexy catfight.  The catfight never happened, but not for lack of trying.

"...can we at least drop Beth?"

"No, Beth called me _specifically_ saying she wanted to help you and Steve."

Tony looked surprised.  "...really? Last time I saw her was at my intervention in '99."

Pepper and Aria were both shooing the Tony and Steve toward the door.  "Yes, well, you two can catch up after dinner, now hurry up, if you're late it's going to look really bad..."

Tony's mouth twitched; behind his sunglasses, his face was otherwise unreadable.  "...wow, how 'bout that... maybe it's an omen, Steve... about people forgiving us and giving us second chances..."  He realized Steve had been frozen during the entire Beth debacle. Back in the day they'd been a couple of interest.  Both of them had regrettably short names so they'd never gotten a fun nickname like Bradgelina, but they had nonetheless had quite a few headlines together.  "...Beth's an old flame. You'll like her. She's like you, you know, kick-ass and always telling me to drink less," he explained. "She's the beta redhead." He had no idea why he added that.  All his bodyguards were betas and Beth was the only female and Steve could have probably figured out which one she was. "...I guess she's proud of me for settling down," he mused as he climbed into the back of one of three black, unmarked SUVs waiting for them in front of the house.

"Tony, the day you 'settle down' will be a cold day in hell," said Pepper with a roll of her eyes.

Aria got in the last seat available of the SUV, tapping away on her phone with one hand. She smelt of cigarette smoke and a tangerine body spray she liked to use. "Oh, and just to warn you-- last warning, I promise-- Malick is probably a sexist, statusist bastard. He's part of some 'Gentleman Alpha club' thingy. Which is not a good thing. They give money to those camps, the kind that Tiberius went to."

Steve's left eye twitched and his hands balled up in his lap.

_Eighty four. Eight-fucking-four._

"But please don't go all social justice warrior on him!" Aria added quickly. "Just be pleasant and calm and if anything annoy him with how nice you are.  I just want to prepare you for the worst-case scenario."

"Annoy him," Steve echoed. "Right."

Pepper shot Aria a concerned look over her shoulder.

The drive was a little tense, though at some point Steve's hands did relax back down by his sides. When they neared the place he subconsciously reached for Tony's hand beside him, curling a few of their fingers together. He didn't like being nervous, but he was. He knew when they'd turned onto the right street because he could see the crowd gathered around the establishment and signs waving in the air. Steve  narrowed his eyes, spotting a few signs in the distance:

_OMEGAS BELONG ON THEIR KNEES!_

_Original_ , Steve thought dryly.

_EVERY BOND IS EVERY ALPHA'S RIGHT._

_KEEP THEM ON A LEASH!_

_ALPHA AUTHORITY!_

_OUR CAP SHOULDN'T BE A WHORE._

Steve's brows rose at the last one. Aria just snorted when she saw it and patted his arm. "Kinda lame that's the worst they could come up with," she said and he just hummed in agreement.

Then Happy moved around to open the door and the noise hit them like a wave. Steve's face must have been portraying a lot because Aria pulled a pair of RayBan glasses out and shoved them onto his face, muttering something about 'emergency sunglasses.' 

"Best way to look like you don't give a shit is not to let them see you," she told him and then got out of the car.

Steve stepped out after her and stared out over the crowd. He moved to the side so Tony could get out too and he felt... surprisingly okay. Their bodyguards were already spread out, pushing back the protesters and paparazzi. He spotted Bethany's bright hair and saw her punch a hole in one guy's sign that said something about sucking dick on it. He had to bite back a grin.

Happy was walking behind them, guiding them forward. A woman at the front of the crowd was shoving a microphone out towards them.

"Captain America?! Captain America? Who bonded you in Yemen? Did you know him?!"

Steve walked _straight_ past her without even looking.

Tony had been escorted through all sorts of protests in his forty years.  You made plenty of enemies as a weapons designer. This was the first time he'd ever had to shove through a protest that wasn't directly toward him.  And somehow, that made it worse. Because these people didn't hate Steve for actually killing anyone, which was a pretty legit reason to hate someone.  Tony had been called a killer and a murderer and he'd even had a couple of assassination attempts ("For Sokovia!" A place Tony doubted he'd even be able to find on a map...) but he had always felt a sort of smug sense of deserving.  Like it was an accomplishment, somehow.

This was worse.  They hated Steve but only because of who he was, or who he wasn't.  Things he didn't choose. Things that were as much a part of him as his eye color.

Tony laced their hands together firmly and let the detail do their work with guerilla-style efficiency.  Inside wasn't much better, however. Bonaventure was technically a public space; it was a massive hotel and indoor shopping center, and the media and protesters had leaked inside, blocking the usually stunning view of the walkways, curved concrete stairwells, and indoor fountains.

Steve was doing what Steve did best, walking through with his head held high.  But there was no protecting him from reading the signs or hearing people yelling.  With Steve's enhanced hearing and height, he probably heard more and saw more than Tony, to be honest.

The moment the ten of them (the six bodyguards, plus Tony and Steve, plus Aria and Pepper) crammed into an elevator, it was suddenly and startlingly quiet.

"...whew," said Tony awkwardly, squeezed between Steve and Beth, trying not to feel claustrophobic.  Tony didn't mind tight spaces, but he minded sharing them with other people. "...hi, Beth." Tony hadn't been kidding about her being a redhead.  Her dark red hair tumbled down to her elbows and gave her the look of a pin-up model. Her face was more angular than Pepper's, sharper and crueler, and she lacked Pepper's freckles, but otherwise, the two looked remarkably similar.  In between them and Natasha, Tony clearly had a preference for bossy red-heads.

"Hi, Tony," she said coolly.

"...miss me?" asked Tony, lowering his sunglasses a little to grin at her cheekily.

"Don't flatter yourself.  I volunteered to meet Captain America," she said, giving Steve a nod.

"...aaaand there's Bethany with the ice-cold take-down," said Tony.

"If you ever _listened_ to me, you'd already know that I've been involved in omega rights for my entire adult life."

"You're still brutal," said Tony lovingly, who didn't seem to mind her little jabs.  "That's why you were always my favorite redhead."

"Tony, don't start," snarled Pepper.

"I'm _kidding_ , Pepper," said Tony.  His mouth twitched. "...you know _you_ were always my favorite."

"We should have taken two different elevators," said one of the guards mildly, though whether he was suggesting that for everyone's sanity or for comfort was unclear.  The elevator was tight. Also, it was on the outside of the building and glass, which gave them a nice view of the city... and the mass of people below.

"Give Aria your number. I'll get in touch," Steve assured Bethany. And the fierce-looking woman almost smiled at him before gathering herself back together.

"I thought you said everyone was real supportive of Steve," said Tony grimly, staring down at the crowd in the street, mixed with police, who were trying and failing to control downtown traffic.

"...well, for the most part, yes, but there's always going to be dissenters," said Pepper.  "There's a couple of nice signs in there too, if you look..."

"Don't look," warned Tony, trying to block Steve from looking out the glass elevator.  (A pointless gesture; Tony was too short.)

He glanced down even when Tony told him not to look. He could make out a few signs, all of the same caliber. "I've been shot before. Misspelled insults on cardboard don't really compete," Steve said, sounding totally unaffected as he took his sunglasses off and tucked them inside the pocket of his blue jacket.

It didn't matter; the elevator was already heading rapidly toward the thirty-fourth floor lounge, which was empty except for men in suits with earpieces who were clearly there for security reasons only.  The lounge looked strangely empty with all of its lone tables, draped in white cloths and ornament with little tea candles.

Tony's bodyguards dispersed, giving Tony and Steve a clear line; Malick had beaten them there and was already sitting at a table by the window.

Tony strode over; he and Malick shook hands.  Malick sat without shaking Steve's.

Steve had reached out to shake Malick's hand but quickly let it fall back at the rejection. Huh. Too good to shake his hand then? Well, Steve could work with that. He offered a polite smile as he moved to sit down on Tony's right, leaving him a little closer to Malick than his mate was.

"...awful traffic out there, isn't it?" said Malick pleasantly, as if it were normal and not part of a large rally directly affecting Steve.

"I think we've all dealt with worse," Steve breathed and Malick smiled. His lips pulled too thin as he did so and Steve had to stop himself from grimacing. He'd never really considered himself an especially shallow man but Malick really was awfully unfortunate-looking.

"How's the neck?" he asked bluntly and Steve's smile didn't falter.

"Infected briefly," he answered. "But now it's healing just fine, thank you."

"Glad to hear it," he said.  "...and how are you, Mr. Stark?  I should have known Steve would bring one of his Alphas along."  He smiled again.

Tony, surprisingly, didn't react.  Or at least, not negatively. Instead, he replied, "Well, on such short notice, the Winter Soldier wasn't available.  He had an Elk Club meeting to get to."

Behind him, Pepper, who had made herself scarce with Aria and the bodyguards, snorted softly into the cup of water she had been drinking.

Malick's smile vanished.  "...getting right to business I see.  I admire that. So, Captain. I'm sure you're aware of the reason for this meeting.  SHIELD is, of course, well aware by now of the identity of the Winter Soldier, and of your unique history with him."  He paused. "...not that it's really _history_ anymore, seeing as you two decided to re-bond last week--"

He broke off as a waiter flitted over.  Clearly, the waiter had no clue who to address; in Alpha-only clubs, preference was usually given automatically in order of dominance with preference to bonded Alphas, but in mixed restaurants, omegas or beta women were taken care of first, then Alphas, ranking most to least dominant.  Was he supposed to address the dominant Alpha, the bonded Alpha, or the omega, who was also a Captain?

Fortunately, Tony didn't wait to be asked.

"Can I have a scotch, neat?  Make it a triple, actually. Oh, do you guys still have crème brûlée?  ...they have the best crème brûlée here."

Malick looked thoroughly disarmed by Tony's casual demeanor.  He regained his composure quickly. "I should have known a man of your tastes had been here before," he said.  "...I admit, I was... surprised that the captain would have suggested it. I suppose that's where he got the idea."

Tony felt a stab of guilt.  Right. Alphas-only.

"...I daresay that's how this whole mess got started.  You know, people putting ideas in their heads. Director Fury has a soft spot for them.  He got one or two loyal, obedient ones and before you know it..."

"Hold that thought," said Tony.  He pointed to the waiter. " Crème brûlée.  Do you still have it?"

"...we do," said the waiter.

"...great.  Get me that and two scotches, then."

"You mean a double?" said the waiter, who was crossing out "triple."

"No, _two_ triples."

Malick looked disarmed yet again.  Clearly, word hadn't gotten around to him about Tony's alcohol tolerance.  "I'll stick with coffee, thanks," he said. "And something light for the omega.  Maybe a white--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Tony.  " _I'm_ his Alpha."

Malick shut up, and nodded to Tony, deferring to Tony to order for his omega.

Tony looked at the waiter.  "...Steve will have..." he began, "...his order taken."  He leaned back with clear enjoyment.

The waiter, an omega himself, looked like he was struggling not to find the situation funny.  "...and for you, Captain?" he asked Steve directly, mouth twitching with a barely-suppressed grin.

Steve, to his credit, didn't let his polite demeanor falter for a second. This was the man who worked undercover for Tony Stark for weeks without being caught. But under the table one hand was clenched around the side of the chair he was sat on like a vice. He was good but he was not perfect.

He offered the waiter a pleasant look when he finally turned to him. "Do you do pizza?" he asked. "I'm starving."

"...we can get you a pizza.  What kind?"

"Something meaty.  And just a water please, thanks."

He made sure to meet the waiter's gaze whilst he made his order, just as Malick hadn't.

"Right. Swell.  So," Steve said as he turned back to the conversation. "Just, like, one quick question. You know you can't _decide_ to get force bonded, right? Like, genuine question. I do know your type can sometimes struggle with our overly-complicated, cutesy omega things.  Like consent."

Steve's expression and voice were so pleasant and gentle he could barely be conceived as rude. His question sounded genuine.

Malick looked straight at him and said. "Traditionally, if omegas _do_ come in here, they wear collars."

Steve smiled at him. "I think I'd rather go naked."

Tony had tuned out somewhat after letting Steve make his own order and gotten distracted.  The lounge rotated and Tony was pretty sure he could calculate their velocity. He was involved with the math when he heard Malick's bit about collars and Steve's bit about going naked.

"...I'm sure you would," said Malick bitingly.

Tony had to admit that the idea of Steve in collar and/or naked was, to him, extremely sexy.  He felt guilty because he knew that collars were demeaning and old-fashioned. But Tony had grown up in the seventies and eighties.  When arranged bonding had been outlawed, he'd already been thirteen. His family lived on Long Island (more specifically, in the Hamptons), in a posh, rich, conservative neighborhood, and collared omegas were common.  Even after arranged bonded had been legally forbidden, most kept their collars, as a matter of habit. Being a teenager on a cusp of puberty, a thirteen-year-old Tony had been fascinated with them.  In his neighborhood, collars were made of precious metals and often had gems; they sparkled in the sunlight. When Tony thought of omegas in collars, he didn't think of the locked chains of the twenties, but of pleasant, attractive pool boys bringing him lemonade.  He couldn't help but find them arousing. He'd occasionally beat off to the idea of Steve wearing one, maybe just in the bedroom, but never suggested it, because he was well-aware of how fucked up that would be.

Time to change the conversation.

"So SHIELD knows that Steve's... forced bond... was the same guy as before," said Tony, steering them back on topic.

"Yes.  James Buchanan Barnes," said Malick, lacing his fingers on the tabletop.  "We recovered some intel from the base in Yemen about HYDRA operatives, including the identity of the Winter Soldier.  Very valuable information, for SHIELD.  ...unfortunate luck for HYDRA."

He lapsed into silence when the waiter arrived with their drinks.  He served in order of dominance, having probably consulted someone else while getting their order.  Malick first, then Tony, then Steve. Malick eyed Tony's drinks warily, unused to anyone being brash enough to down six shots in front of him.

The waiter caught Steve's eye.  He didn't smile but there was a silent approval in his look.  He disappeared as quickly as he'd come.

"...as you know, Barnes was well-decorated post-humorously and is widely considered to be a war hero for his service in the 107th and the Howling Commandos," said Malick.

Tony went for his scotch like a man dying of thirst.

"...your impromptu apology, while certainly... sincere... has the public believing that you have three Alphas," said Malick.  "As a matter of security, we do not think it would be wise to disclose the identity of the Winter Soldier."

"Agreed," said Tony immediately.

"Needless to say, your work with SHIELD is over.  Even if you hadn't pulled that little Yemen stunt, the fact remains that an omega bonded to the assassin of an extremist fringe group is a liability we can't keep around.  No matter how pretty that omega is, or how much Fury enjoys having him around."

Tony had polished off one scotch and had slowed down; he was sipping on the second one placidly.  Three or four shots in, he had no apparent signs of inebriation. His tolerance had gone up significantly, thanks to two months alone in Colorado.

"Although you are no longer employed by SHIELD, we do require that certain areas of confidentiality are maintained.  Such as your bond. We believe it is in the best interest of both of us to claim that your latest bond was an anonymous third party, as opposed to the Winter Soldier, or Barnes.  As of right now, only a select few within SHIELD know. We aim to keep it that way. However, we need your cooperation to maintain that story." Malick picked up his coffee cup and sipped it.

Under the table, Tony found Steve's hand and gently squeezed it.  Steve's expression was neutral but his fists were clenched under the table.

"It's sweet," Steve said, his eyes flicking up to Malick's face, his tone completely sincere. "That you think I'm pretty."

Gideon's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to tell anyone anything about the forced bond, you don't have to worry about that. I just wanted to get it out there before some tabloid picking up on it. I couldn't hide my neck forever," Steve said, getting more serious as his fingers twined with Tony's under the table. His brow was drawing together in a slight frown. But then he smelt pizza and Steve instantly perked up.

The waiter brought it and set in front of him before setting Tony's dessert down before him.

Just as Tony could put away whiskey scarily fast, so could Steve but with food (well, with drinks too, but the serum kind of made that cheating). He gently pulled his hand away from Tony's, though gave a small a squeeze in thanks before he did, and moved to pick up a piece of pizza. Steve practically inhaled it. Malick looked mildly alarmed.

"So... do I have to sign something, or what?" Steve asked.

"Yes. SHIELD will have already sent something over to you, I believe," Gideon affirmed, watching as two more pieces of pizza disappeared within a matter of seconds.

"Okay. Cool," Steve sucked tomato sauce off of his index fingers. "Anything we have to do. We'll do it. You just say the word."  He gave his hands a brief wipe on a cloth napkin.

Malick frowned a little.  "If only you'd been so accommodating a few months ago.  ...in addition, we've revoked your passport and, after some discussion, have agreed that your apology on Friday will go as scripted.  You're welcome to have whatever little fundraiser you want, but we're not going to let this turn into a complete fiasco. No grand-standing, no special guest appearances, no mention of Status Alliance or the Horseshoe Society.  We want a calm, non-partisan apology and we don't want you dragging horseshoe rights into this. This isn't about that."

Tony hated to admit that Malick was probably right.  Yemen was a matter of international treaties that had been violated and frankly didn't have anything to do with omega rights.

"Steve already apologized," said Tony.

"...which we appreciate.  However, it doesn't mean he gets to hijack Friday's press conference for his little crusade."  Malick sipped his coffee calmly.

Tony looked down at his scotch, which was two-thirds finished.  He wondered if he ought to order another.

"Be thankful you're not going to a detention center, Stevie.  The vote was three-five to send you and Stark both to Guantanamo."

Tony tried to locate the waiter to order another scotch.  "...what's with you and sending people to camps?" blurted Tony before he could help himself.  He immediately knew he'd misstepped. Badly.

Malick's eyebrow cocked.  "I'm of the opinion that, if an omega isn't being happy being an omega, they should be afforded the opportunity to be something better.  Certainly, most are content in their roles. It's in their nature. But for those with aspirations above their station, why not give them a fair chance?  I'm sure, if we told Steve here we could fix him, make him the Alpha he so clearly wants to be, he'd snap at the opportunity."

"I would rather die," Steve said flatly and the smile fell from his face. Malick didn't look like he believed him. Steve leaned forward. "I am not Captain America _despite_ being an omega. I'm Captain America _because_ I'm an omega, and being an Alpha would not make me better if it made me like you."

Steve seemed to gathered himself back together and exhaled softly, straightening up in his chair. Malick didn't look happy.

Tony had no reply to any of this.  He was pretty sure you couldn't change a person's status, but then again, there were certainly plenty of omegas who overdosed themselves on suppressants and tried to pass as betas.  And some were successful. And their lives were probably easier for it.

He managed to snag the waiter.

"Hey, can I grab another scotch?"

"...another triple?" asked the waiter, who looked alarmed.

"Yes, perfect, thank you."

The waiter hesitated.  "Sir, I'm... I'm not sure I can serve you nine shots in less than an hour," he said, not meeting Tony's eyes, posture completely submissive.

"...okay, then bring _Steve_ a triple," said Tony.

The waiter looked conflicted but, unused to asserting himself against Alphas, nodded and disappeared.

"...Mr. Stark..." said Malick, who looked like he felt the need to intervene but wasn't certain how to go about it.  "...do you typically drink this much?"

"Only when I'm with people I don't like," said Tony bluntly.

When the waiter brought Tony's third drink Steve took it off the table and downed it in one.

"I specifically stated that the charity was for kids of all statuses. I'm not making this about this status. You are," Steve said, voice calm and collected.

Tony let out a noise of protest when Steve threw back his drink.  Immediately, he began looking around for the waiter again.

"Fine, fine.  Have your little charity.  But as I said. No guests, no performances, no mention of any status-oriented groups.  Stick to the scripted apology."

"Why don't you like fun?" asked Tony, who was finally feeling the effects of the alcohol.

Malick ignored him.  "And don't tell me you're not making this about status.  Your little speech was all about omegas and equality. Here's the reality, Stevie: omegas aren't equal.  And it's a damned shame to tell them that because once you put ideas in their heads, they spend the rest of their lives trying to achieve things they can't and they're unhappy.  You know how you get a happy omega? You break them in young, make sure they know their place, and then treat them as nature intended."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table, indicating that their little dinner (well, dinner for Steve) was over.

"Would you like to treat me as 'nature intended?'" Steve hissed, eyes narrowing. His polite demeanor was quickly cracking, fragmenting and his hands were definitely balled into fists again. He didn't usually punch unarmed men but Gideon was making the prospect awfully tempting. "I _dare_ you.  I dare you to _try_ and treat me _as nature intended._ "

Gideon stood and fixed Steve with a long, hard stare. "There is nothing natural about you, Captain."

Steve's jaw was trembling. He stood, their faces inches apart.

He looked into Gideon's eyes; he looked right into him and saw _nothing_ . "If I had listened to men like you in the forties, I wouldn't be standing here today.  And so God help me I am _not_ going to listen to you now.  I might be from the past. But men like you can't see a future that's more than just yourself," Steve said, "and that's the reason men like you will be forgotten, and men like me will be remembered."  With that, he walked out.

Tony watched Steve go, bewildered by the exchange.

He stood, wobbled, then sat.  "Oh, man, it feels like the room is spinning," said Tony.

Malick stared at him.

Tony grinned.  "It _is_ spinning," he added glibly.

"How can you just let your omega run rampant like that?  It's embarrassing," said Malick.

Tony's smile disappeared.  "...Steve isn't _running rampant_.  He's asking to be treated equally.  Like a human being. And considering everything he's done for the country, I think he deserves at least that."

Tony got up again and, unsteadily, made his way after Steve.  Exiting the lounge and going down the curved half-stairs to the elevator (he leaned heavily on the banister, wishing he'd maybe only had two doubles), Tony found their entourage waiting by the elevator.

Steve, Aria, and Pepper were deep in conversation.

"That didn't go so bad," said Tony loudly.

"...how many drinks did you have?" demanded Beth.

Tony checked his watch automatically and then realized that a wristwatch couldn't tell him that.  "...a couple. ...we haven't talked in like twelve years and you're already on my case about this?"

The elevator chimed and the doors slide open.  Tony pushed Aria out of the way to wrap an arm around Steve's waist.  "You did great. Seriously. With all the shit he was saying to you, you really kept your cool, Steve."

"How does a man like that have such a powerful job? _How_?" Steve shook his head to himself, running a hand over his face. "He was awful. Can I report him for that shit?"

"I wouldn't," Pepper said gently, a hand on his arm in a brief, comforting touch.

Steve leaned into Tony when he appeared beside him, the other's hand hot against his waist through his shirt.

"I kind of lost it at the end.  I'm sorry."

"You have the right to stand up for yourself, Steve," Aria shrugged. "Being polite doesn't mean being a pushover." She glanced downstairs, pressing her lips together. The crowd hadn't let up. "Are we ready to brave it again?"

"Yeah," Steve breathed. "I could do this all day."

* * *

_They were walking down the street, past a jeweler's.  The window display had pearl necklaces, sparkling engagement rings, and a braided gold collar.  Both of their gazes flitted over and Bucky felt a stab of humiliation and shame. He wished he could get Steve a nice collar like that, but they were so goddamn poor he could barely afford to keep the house warm enough to prevent Steve's chronic bouts with bronchitis._

_Someday, he vowed silently to himself, he'd get Steve the fanciest collar he could buy, one that suited him, one that showed him just how much he was valued._

_Beside him, Steve coughed._

_"You okay?" he asked._

_"Yeah, I'm fine," said Steve, stifling more coughs.  Poor, proud Steve. Everyone said that it was a shame for an Alpha like Bucky to take an omega like Steve, but Bucky thought it was the other way around.  Steve was tough as nails and Bucky couldn't give him any of the things any normal omega would want, like a nice collar or whelps._

_Bucky reached for Steve's hand, but when he curled his fingers, he found nothing but air, and suddenly he was freezing cold and he was falling..._

Bucky opened his eyes.  It was evening. He was lying on the pull-out sofa of the motel room and he could feel him.  Feel his omega. Feel that tough-as-nails sense of indignation and pride in himself, and it made Bucky's heart ache for him.

He sat up and strode over to the door, yanking it open.

"Where do you think you're going?

The girl.

Bucky turned.  "...Steve needs me.  I need to protect him.  He's my omega," he said.

The girl stared at him with those creepy red-amber eyes, sitting crossed-legged on the bed, her hands weaving an invisible string in front of her.  "...so you're just leaving? You realize he's thousands of miles away?"

Bucky had not realized that.  "...I should be there for him.  He's always picking fights with bigger guys.  He needs me," he repeated. "I promised Sarah I'd look after him.  She said, _that's a good boy, Jimmy._  I've gotta.  I said I would."

The girl cocked her head at him.  "...do you even know what year it is?" she asked.

He hesitated.  "...'44?"

"No."

"...'63?"

"No."

"...'86?"

She heaved a world-weary sigh and got up, walking across the room to gently close the door.  "Go back to bed, James.  I'm sure where ever he is, he's doing fine."

The words she said, that Steve was doing fine, didn't hurt as much as the ones she didn't say.  _Without you._

Even after Bucky laid back down, he remained awake for a long, long time.


	41. Omegas of the Past

The journey back to the car from the lounge was much the same as their entrance had been. People were yelling; the signs were foul. But this time Steve didn't wear his sunglasses.  He didn't need to.  What fear or trepidation he'd felt walking in had been replaced with righteous indignation, and he was able to brave the crowd with his head held high.  Still, when they were finally back inside the cars there was a collective sigh of relief.

Steve wore a slight frown on his features. Without saying anything he found Tony's hand next to him and interlinked their fingers together.

Tony squeezed Steve's hand softly, staring out the window, still wearing sunglasses.  Tony's secret, of course, was that they were prescription. Over half of his considerable number of sunglasses were, something Steve had discovered when he slipped on a pair and then crashed into a wall.

"He's part of an older generation," said Tony.  "...Alphas in your day were like that. But they're a dying breed.  Come on, think about Banksy and Ty. The world's changing, Steve, and you're here to see it happen."  He leaned his head on Steve's shoulder as the car pulled away, leaving the angry crowd behind.

"But they're not dying quickly enough and they're leaving more men like them behind. He literally said I needed to be _broken in_ Tony. What the hell does that mean?" Steve huffed. Even though they all knew what it meant and it was something very sinister. "If I can't change the minds of men like him then what's the point? What's the point if he doesn't even see me as a goddamn person?"

"I don't think you can change the man of men like that," Aria murmured.

Tony frowned a little and looked out the window, noticing a couple of signs.  Tony had assumed (correctly) that most of the protesters were Alphas.  But a pair caught his eye:

_CAPTAIN AMERICA DOES NOT REPRESENT ME._

_I'M A GOOD OMEGA.  WHY ISN'T HE?_

Tony's stomach turned a little and he hoped Steve hadn't seen those.

"It's good that no one's gotta known about Barnes," he said, trying to stay positive for Steve.

"Except now everyone thinks Steve had three Alphas," pointed out Pepper.

"Yeah, well, people get married and divorced like four times, what's the big deal?"

"...the big deal is that he's an omega."

"Fuckin' A.  This is so-- STOP THE CAR!"

Happy slammed the brakes.  The car behind them swerved and blared their horn, narrowly missing them.  Every bodyguard in the car was already reaching for their hip holsters.

"What?  What is it?!" cried Pepper.

Tony pressed against the window, practically climbing into Steve's lap.  "...look! McDonald's is serving Shamrock Shakes! Happy! Happy, pull in here, I need one..."

The bodyguards relaxed; Pepper dragged a hand over her face; Beth was staring at Tony with a look of disgust.

"You're still you, huh?"

"The one and only," confirmed Tony.  He reached up to cup Steve's cheek. "A Shamrock Shake will make everything better.  They didn't have them in your time, but I promise, they're... what would you call 'em... the mutt's nuts."

"Bees' knees," corrected Pepper, looking like she was ready to turn in her resignation.  "Tony. They're just mint and vanilla shakes that are dyed green."

"Don't be a hater, Pep.  Happy. Happy, turn here, order me a shake."

Happy turned in to the McDonald's drivethrough without blinking. This was a common occurrence, then.

"Also, would you all just stop calling him my Alpha--"

" _Steve_ ," Aria sighed.

"--he wasn't my Alpha then and he certainly isn't now. Just because he put his mark on me doesn't make me his. So will people stop goddamn _saying it_ ," Steve said, head in his hands as Happy ordered the required amount of shakes through the window.

He could smell the shakes when they brought into the car. The smell was sugary and sweet, almost pleasant.  Almost.  Steve's stomach was upset with tension.  But with his metabolism, anything sugary was usually appealing.

Bethany was practically glaring daggers at Tony. "Of all the days to get drunk..."

Pepper was massaging her temples with her forefingers. "Can we just go back home, please? Without any more diversions?  And then I think me and Aria deserve the evening off."

"We could go grab dinner," Aria piped up.

"That would be lovely," Pepper said with a tired smile.

"I'm not drunk.  I'm just a tiny bit tipsy," said Tony petulantly, taking his shake and sipping it loudly.

"I thought you'd cut back," said Bethany accusingly.

"...why don't you go have a girls' night out with Pep and Aria?" suggested Tony, desperate to get rid of her.  "I don't think me and Steve need five bodyguards in our own house, right?"

"Until the public calms down, you're going to have a detail," said Pepper.

"Right, but at home, I mean, I have great defenses, and the suits, and Steve has his shield... we're okay in the house, right?"

"...I suppose."

"So how about you guys all go out and give me and Steve some private time?"

"...I'll be damned.  It really _is_ just vanilla and mint," said Happy, looking down at the shake in his hand.

Tony glared at Pepper, sucking noisily on the straw and lapsing into silence.  He wanted to argue with Steve about Barnes being his Alpha. Being connected as they were, Tony knew perfectly well that Barnes had loved him, and Steve had loved him, and at least their first bond had been consensual.  Jury was out on the renewed bond.  Steve's constant insistence that Barnes wasn't his Alpha was, in Tony's mind, sour grapes about Barnes's refusal to consummate the bond. But as an Alpha himself, Tony begrudgingly understood where Barnes was coming from.  If he thought banging Steve would hurt him, he'd never be able to do it.

He kept his arm and head resting against Steve's on the drive home.  As they went north on the Pacific Coast Highway, the traffic got worse and worse, and it was apparent why; clustered outside the iron gates of Tony's estate were news vans and more protesters.  It was a mixed crowd, both for and against Steve, and there was a population of police keeping them separate. Tony winced. He'd had protests outside his house before but it was usually over a bombing in some little Middle Eastern Country.  When the Sokovian Civil War broke out, Tony had had to take a chopper for weeks. He'd never even _heard_ of Sokovia.  ("It's near the Ukraine, bordering Bulgaria.  It's tiny. Smaller than Moldova," Obadiah had said over cigars one evening.  "Where the hell's Bulgaria?" asked Tony, who had also never heard of Moldova. "Doesn't matter.  We're not supplying them with weapons, anyway. We're government contractors. All those people out there, they're just a bunch of bleeding-heart liberals who need a bad guy to rally against.  But we're not the bad guys, Tony. Remember that," said Obadiah. Tony had felt a sense of relief that he had nothing to do with Sokovia or Slovakia or whatever the hell it was called, and never gave it second thought.)

"This'll die down in a week or two," Tony reassured Steve.  "...probably sooner, actually, since there's no public bathrooms or restaurants out here."

"There's actually five restaurants in a ten-mile radius," said Pepper.  "Spruzzo, Coral Beach, Kristy's, Paradise Cove, and The Sunset."

"...oh yeah," said Tony.

"...and two of those are Alpha-only," said Aria darkly.

"Wait, really?"

"Mm-hm.  Spruzzo and The Sunset have always been," said Pepper.

Tony sipped his shake thoughtfully.  He'd never noticed. He wracked his brain and, yes, sure enough, all the clientele had always been Alphas or the rare beta.  Tony couldn't believe, now, that he'd never noticed. Until Steve, Tony had never spared a glance toward omegas, never given them much thought.  Like poor people or Sokovians, they just weren't part of Tony's life.

An egg splatted across the window of the car as they moved slowly through the gates, being waved through by the police.

Steve watched the goo of the egg slowly drag down the window, a smear of yellow in the centre. He felt oddly overwhelmed - that people could both like and hate him so much. He had thought that, if anything, Alphas would simply pay no heed to him. He never thought they would actively go after him like this. He thought back to Malick saying he would surely want to be an Alpha. And he didn't. But he didn't really want to be an omega right now, either... if he was a betam things would be _so_ much easier.

He could understand why some people abused suppressants.

They seemed to be past the worst of the crowd when a man jumped onto the car, a sign in hand that said something crude about omegas and knots. "Oh dear," Happy said, setting his shake down so he could turn on the windshield wipers.  One of the bodyguards snorted a little.

"I've got this," Bethany assured them and got out of the car. The man was shouting at them through the windscreen, saying something equally as crude as his sign. Steve felt a little sick and Aria looked horrified. Sometimes he forget she had two omega moms, that this really hit home for her. That every sign she read wasn't just about Steve-- it was about them too. After a bit of a struggle Bethany managed to drag him down, ripping his sign from his hands and pushing him back towards the crowd. A policeman came and took his arm, leading him back out of the gates.

"I won't be able to go running by the beach anymore, will I?" Steve said, realizing it aloud. He'd spent so much time stuck inside the house and now it was happening all over again.

Aria reached over and patted his knee.

The car made it past the gates, leaving the crowd far behind them, and they all stumbled out of the car and into the house with mutual sighs of relief. Aria went to go fetch her and Pepper's things from the kitchen before they went out. Happy waited to take them back out again and Bethany wrote down her own number for Steve, giving it him with a small smile.

"It's been great to meet you Captain. I'm only sorry it wasn't in better circumstances," she said and offered him a kind smile. Steve smiled back.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow, probably," Steve said, offering Pepper, Aria and Happy a wave before heading upstairs, leaving everyone else in the seating area. Aria sighed as she dropped her laptop and files into a bag.

Pepper turned to give Tony a stern look. "You don't drink anymore tonight, you hear me Tony? It'll make you feel worse and you'll be no good to Steve drunk."

"Yes, _mom_ ," said Tony sarcastically.

Suddenly he felt a punch to his gut.

He checked his watch.  Wednesday, March 2nd.

"...I won't get drunk," he said, quietly.

"No more drinks.  Period."

"I'm gonna just have one more, probably, just a little night cap."

" _No_ , Tony."

Tony ignored her, making his way heavily up the stairs after Steve.  The nice thing about all this commotion was that it was a very, very good distraction from the upcoming twenty-fifth anniversary of his parents' death.  He'd never quite learned how to cope with it and it still hit him a lot harder than he'd like to admit.

"...Steve?"

Tony peeked into the bedroom but immediately could tell Steve wasn't there by the smell.

He checked Steve's room next, but it was also empty.  Puzzled, Steve poked his nose in the lounge, and there was Steve, curled up on the couch where they had made their nest during his heat.

"...hey, you okay?" asked Tony, making a beeline for the bar against the wall.

Steve was laid out, knees lazily tucked against his chest and head leaning on one arm. He was staring at the blank wall in front of him, blue eyes a little glazed over. He didn't look up when Tony walked in. But he heard the liquid pouring into the glass and sighed internally. The fancy blue jacket he'd been wearing was a little ruffled beneath him due to his position but he didn't care.

"Do you ever just... wish you could stop thinking for a while?" Steve murmured. He guessed that was why Tony was hitting the booze hard today; Malick and his parents' up coming anniversary. But Steve couldn't get drunk (right? He'd never really tried to figure out a way to get drunk; the serum dampened the effects of most drugs considerably, as did his size.) There was no real escape for him, not right now.

That was part of why Steve had loved the fight so much. The adrenaline rush. It had been addictive.

"Sometimes I think it would just be easier...if I just got on my knees and started being the omega everyone wants me to be."

Tony poured himself a glass of gin and threw in an olive.  Garnishes, he learned, were often the difference between looking like a lush and looking like a cultured drinker.

He replaced the gin and moved back around the bar to sit on a chair, slouching down in it and spreading his legs out, watching Steve.

He sipped the cool liquor, enjoying the burn that curled in his stomach.

"...do I wish I could stop thinking?  Yeah. Every day. That's why I drink.  That's why I have sex. It turns my brain off.  Every day, constantly, there's just... so many thoughts.  It's overwhelming. And when I get drunk, I feel... normal, I guess.  I feel like I relate to people better. There's less noise in there."

Tony fished around his drink for the olive and gave up after a while, letting it swirl around the edges of the glass.  He licked the gin off his fingers.

"It _would_ probably be easier if you did that.  But that's not you. You don't do things the easy way," said Tony.  "It would've been easier not to join the army, not to volunteer for the serum experiments, not to go to war, not to save the world and sacrifice yourself to do so... nothing you've ever done has been easy.  But it's been... _right_.  That's why you've done it."  Tony sipped his drink again, letting a peaceful silence fall between them.  Then he said, quietly, "Not everyone wants you to be that type of omega. I don't, for one.  I told you when I first met you, I like 'em uppity. Remember? ...you're not a quitter, Steve.  That's who you are. Being an omega, or an Alpha, those things don't really define us. We define ourselves, yeah?  I'm not a strong Alpha and I never will be. But I'm something better than that. I'm a billionaire playboy genius philanthropist super-hero.  People who care about status... those people live sad lives. They have nothing else to be proud of. But you're not just an omega. You're a golden-hearted patriot veteran soldier with enough morals to shame the Pope.  You're not a good omega. You're a good _person_. And that, that's a hell of a lot more important."

Tony threw back the rest of his drink.  He was unused to making Captainesque speeches, or to being serious for more than a few minutes at a time, so he added, "I mean, obviously, if you wanna kneel and wear a collar in the bedroom, be my guest, that's hot as hell, but y'know, don't kneel 'cause anyone tells you to."

Steve was quiet for a while and lifted a hand to rub at his face, perhaps even rubbing away tears. He sniffed. "That's...I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he whispered and a strange, warm sensation tugged at his chest. And he didn't mean that in a bad way; he wasn't implying that Tony should have said all that sooner. It just meant a hell of a lot that he was saying it now. Steve moved to sit up, leaning his arms on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"You're right...men like Gideon, they're really not worth it. I bet he voted to send us to Guantanamo. Asshole."

 _And you probably have a bigger dick than him_ , Steve's brain provided childishly. He almost smiled.

Steve looked up at the last thing Tony said, eyes narrowing...although not out of disapproval, more curiosity than anything else. And there was no criticism in his voice either when he asked: "Wait.  You...you _like_ the thought of me wearing a collar?" He sounded more confused by it than anything else. "Why?"

Tony coughed into his gin.  "What? No. No, of course not... I mean... collars are... they're, like, debasing, right?  I would never ask you to wear a collar," he said quickly.

He went back to fishing for his olive, which was scuttling around the bottom of the glass, unwilling to be captured.

"...it's weird, though, what Malick said.  About omegas being happy. I don't know. It's complicated.  Look at Banksy. He was force-bonded, but he and Boswell really seem to love each other now.  And look at Jarvis. He was literally a servant. But he seemed happy. I mean, you have no idea, Steve... he _worshipped_ my dad.  I think he was more upset over Dad's death than I was.  He, uh... he had that thing... Takotsubo syndrome." Tony finally snagged the olive and popped it into his mouth.  "...but he never wore a collar," he added.

"Takosubo syndrome?"

"You know.  When the Alpha dies and the omega just kinda..."  Tony rolled his hand around, uncertain how to communicate the way Jarvis had aged suddenly, stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopping _caring_.

"Oh.  In the twenties we called it fading mate."

"...quaint."  Tony tilted his head back.  "...I guess the thing is, omegas ought to be able to choose what they want.  Banksy didn't get to choose. Jarvis... I don't know. I hope he chose but I don't know.  People should choose what makes them happy. Not be assigned."

Tony rose, swaying a little, to get another drink.  Last one, he promised himself. But all this talk of his father and Jarvis was making him feel like he needed one.  He remembered how Jarvis had wept at his father's funeral, how Tony had been unable to. He was not only shell-shocked, but had already begun wondering if his father was drunk.  All he could think of, over and over, was, _You killed my mom.  My mother is dead because of you._  He wasn't angry, exactly.  He was too numb to feel anything, really.  Jarvis, though, had been inconsolable. Tony suspected that, if he didn't exist, Jarvis would have opted to stay at the grave for the rest of his life, like one of those oddly loyal dogs you sometimes read about online, sleeping pressed against the headstones of their masters.

"That's the problem with people like Malick. They make the choice for us," Steve whispered and stared down at the floor. He rubbed a hand over his face. Maybe if he downed like two bottles of vodka he would feel something, or stop feeling something, or whatever. Steve stood, dropping his jacket over the couch as he did so. Before he'd liked the high collar on it.  Now... not so much.

He watched Tony stand and sway as he went to grab himself another drink and sighed. "I'm going to bed Tony. I'm not staying up to watch you get drunk." He didn't sound angry, or disapproving-  just... disappointed, really. Because Steve had been here before after a stressful day with Tony slowly getting wasted in front of him, and he knew he would be here again.  Tony's drinking problem was something as ever-present in their lives as the shadow cast by Howard Stark.

Steve stepped into their bedroom and started to undress, tugging off his shirt and trousers and folding them up neatly on the chest of drawers before he moved to pull out a soft tee. Clad in just that and boxers he got into bed, grabbing his phone too as he went. He tucked his knees up against his chest, back against the ridiculous amount of pillows. He texted Natasha.

_ > Can I come see you guys? SR _

_ > Sure. I can give you the coordinates over the phone. It would be good to see you. NR _

_ > How's it going? NR _

_ > Malick was a dick today. SR _

_ > I'm so sorry I landed you guys in this. SR _

_ > Don't be. We made our own choices Steve, just like you made ours. Maybe come see us over the weekend? NR _

_ > I'd love to. SR _

She didn't reply after that. Steve tucked the phone against his chest. They were his best friends and he missed them terribly. Maybe he could get Sam to meet him there too. Steve knew he was in DC though; he would need a lot of warning. But it would be nice to have something to look forward to after the fundraiser-public apology-press conference.

He still didn't know what he was going to sing.

He saw a peek of blue and red from the back of the walk in wardrobe, the door left slight ajar. His Captain America get-up.  Steve stared down at his phone and went on a news website to avoid looking at it. All he could see was speculation pieces about who his 'third' Alpha was. He sighed and dropped his phone on the bedside table.

"Jarvis? Can you dim the lights?"

"Certainly sir."

Maybe he'd be able to find some peace, however temporary, in sleep.

* * *

 

Tony heard-- and felt-- his omega's disappointment as he poured himself another martini.

He waited until Steve left, then threw back a final drink before following him toward the bedroom.  He saw Steve was already curled up in bed.

He went into the closet to hang up his suit and tie; he threw his shirt on the floor and pulled on an undershirt to sleep in.  Steve, he noted, was still sleeping clothed.

He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, gargling some mouthwash to rinse out the bitter taste of gin, knowing Steve was upset with his drinking.  He padded out and slipped under the covers with Steve. The bed was warm, about a million degrees; Steve, as usual, radiated body heat.

Tony slipped his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling, the room illuminated by the glow from his chest.  The thin white t-shirt he was in did little to muffle its light.

"Steve?  ...you know I've never ask you to kneel for me if you didn't want to, or to wear a collar, right?" asked Tony softly, not even sure if Steve was awake or not.  Steve had knelt for Tony plenty of times, in private. But never in public. The one time Tony had asked him to, at the Expo, he hadn't, and looking back on it, Tony was glad he hadn't.  "...I don't wanna be like Malick." A pause, Tony still staring at the steady wash of blue light on the ceiling. "...the thing is, when I was a kid, and this was like, the seventies... actually, a lot of omegas still wore collars.  Like, we'd go over to my dad's friends' houses and they would have house omegas that were collared, and, um, at the club, you know, all the omegas there were collared, too. I never actually thought about it. But the thing is you had these... these beautiful blonds, women in sarongs and guys in shorts, wearing these jeweled collars, and... I never thought of it as degrading, back then.  Honestly I thought it was really attractive. When you're a thirteen-year-old and you've got a couple of the Racebrook hotties fawning over you, you're not exactly thinking about civil rights, you know?" Another pause. "I feel shitty about it. I associated collars with omegas and omegas were... they were these attractive, pleasant servants... and yeah. I liked them. I'm sorry, Steve.  I feel so shitty admitting that. I swear, I'm trying so hard to get better for you. This whole situation sucks ass."

He sat back up.  He doubted he'd be able to sleep, not with all the thoughts circling in his head.

He was thinking of going downstairs and dredging up some old information on Jarvis.  Poor Jarvis, whose rich history had been lost because Tony had never bothered to think of him as anything more than a butler.  In theory, information about both Jarvis and Steve should be in his father's notes. Tony had boxes and boxes of notes and ledgers and journals and photos he'd never gone through, placed in boxes in the server room, having been stored away for decades and never touched.

He reached out and set a hand on Steve's shoulder.  "Love you," he said.

Steve reached out and touched Tony's hand before he pulled it away. It took him a moment but he sat up and then he turned to face Tony and reached out to touch his cheek, the backs of his fingers just lightly grazing against it. "Don't ever compare yourself to that man," he breathed, voice low. "You might have been indifferent before, Tony, but you're trying to best. And I'm so proud of you. The difference between you and Malick is that when you realized Omegas were people too, you felt bad about it, where as isn't capable of _seeing_ it. You see me. He doesn't.  And I kneel for you because it's intimate and it feels ngood and I'm not gonna deny that it's part of my instinctive biology. But then so is sex and most people don't do _that_ in public. You never make me feel like I have _do_ anything. Everything I do with you is because I want to. The stuff we do in private, that's our business, not anyone else's.  ...I'm not sure I could ever deal with wearing a collar... I mean back in the forties I never did, couldn't afford one. Guess I lucked out there," Steve tried to joke but frowned briefly before looking back up. "But I don't want you to feel like you can't ask for things from me. You shouldn't be scared to, just like I'm not scared of saying no either."

Steve sighed, his blue eyes softening. "And hey, I love you too."

Tony's mouth twitched a little.  "I don't have the right to ask you for things right now, Steve.  I've been a total prick over this whole Barnes thing. I'm sorry.  ...I'm gonna go down to the lab for a while, okay? I'll see you in the morning."  He leaned in and kissed Steve's forehead before getting up and going downstairs.

"Hey kids, Daddy's up!" he announced to the lab.  One of the bots clicked a mechanical arm at him in reply.

Tony passed through the lab and loped down the stairs to the server room, shivering in his bare feet, boxers, and undershirt.  There was a whole shelf of things stored in here, things Tony didn't trust to be stored off-site. He examined the boxes thoughtfully, not sure which one to start with.

In the end, he just grabbed one at random to take back upstairs.  He wasn't sure what he was looking for, precisely. He was still pretty tipsy.  Perhaps some indication that Jarvis hadn't been one of the oppressed omegas of Steve's world, that he and his father had a good bond, that Jarvis was happy.  For some reason that was very important to Tony.

He set the heavy box on top of his lab desk and flipped off the lid, digging in deep.  He fingers brushed glass. He pulled out a dusty, framed photograph. His heart sank. The photograph showed three men-- no, two men, one boy.  Tony Stark was in the center of the photo in black robes, looking unusually bashful, eyes down, grinning. One hand was holding the corner of a diploma.  To his left, Obadiah Stane stood. He had a wide smile; his eyes were closed, forever frozen in a half-blink. He was holding the other corner of Tony’s diploma, pulling it up, showing it off.  Perhaps this is why he was laughing, and why Tony was looking shy. Tony had no memory of the photo being taken. To his right in the picture, his father, Howard Stark, stood by. Unlike Obadiah or Tony, he was looking straight at the camera and wasn’t blurred by motion.  He wasn’t smiling; he had a look like this was expected. That his teenage son getting a high school degree, and acceptance to MIT at the age of 15, was normal.

Tony tilted the photograph a little, as if getting the light to hit it differently would alter it.  But it remained the same. Two figures slightly blurred, Obie half-blinking, his teenage self looking shy and hunched and a little embarrassed, the diploma lop-sided.  Tony flipped the photo over; on the back, Obie’s handwriting identified the year, the place. “Tony’s graduation” it was titled. Tony tossed it aside and dug into the box again.  His fingers brushed some loose paper at the bottom of the box; he pulled out another photograph. A very young Howard Stark and Obadiah Stane were shaking hands in front of a low concrete building with a sign that said “STARK ENTERPRISES.”  Both were smiling, but their smiles looked a bit fake, as if whoever was taking the picture had instructed them to smile. Another dig. An ancient ledger had some meticulously cramped writing, detailing Stark Industries’ early acquisitions.  A manila envelope held some birth certificates and some death certificates; Zebediah Stane had died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound, Jarvis and Ana of congestive heart failure due to old age, while Howard Stark had, like Obadiah, died of blunt force trauma.  A chill ran through Tony; he’d never seen his father’s death certificate. He’d only been 16; Obadiah had dealt with it. He tried to peel apart some documents and the cover fell off an old issue of Newsweek magazine with Obadiah on the cover. A Polaroid of Howard and another man holding up an enormous blueprint fell onto the floor; it took Tony a moment to recognize what could only be a much younger Anton Vanko.

So far, there was not a single indication that Jarvis had even been a part of Howard Stark's life.  Jarvis was probably the man behind the camera, always on the periphery of his life.

Tony flipped open a ledger.  At least, he was hoping, at least Jarvis got paid a fair amount.  Howard didn't seem like someone who would pay omegas and Alphas differently.  He flipped through the old family finances, searching for Edwin Jarvis (or Ana Jarvis's) income, not finding them.  Were they on an annual salary instead of a monthly one? Tony kept flipping. Surely having two live-in servants would be in here somewhere.  He saw the wages for his nannies ( _holy shit,_ he thought; no wonder Lupita and Aaliyah had put up with him for all those years; they had both probably retired rich), plus the cook and two maids and a groom and a driver and a personal bodyguard, but nothing at all to indicate they'd ever had a butler.  Had Howard just paid him under the table, in wads of cash?

He tossed the ledger aside and went back to searching through the old family memorabilia.

Here: a photo of his mother and Nancy Reagan in their tennis outfits, grinning at the camera.

And here: a photo of Howard and Maria posing in front of the Eiffel tower, his arm around her shoulders.

And here: a picture of Howard and Maria sitting on the couch together, smiling at a camera, and there, _finally_ , was Jarvis, on the very edge, almost off-camera, his attention directed not toward the camera at all but toward a fussing bundle in his arms.  _Me_ , realized Tony.

He stared at the picture, wondering how things could have been if they hadn't gone out that night.  Or if the weather had been better. Or if his father had, for once, not had anything to drink.

His stomach turned.

All of the shit with Steve and the protesters had provided an excellent distraction from the dreaded upcoming anniversary.  But now, staring at all the photos in his lap, he was reminded of a family he never really got to know and a childhood that ended as suddenly and traumatically as his parents' car.

He got up and crossed the room to grab a bottle of Jack from the bar before settling back down to keep pawing through the materials.  He eventually fell asleep, curled up with the bottle and picture of his mother and Ana trying to get him to hold a tennis racket properly.  In the background, a collared omega was chasing a rogue tennis ball, and all four of them were laughing.

* * *

 

Steve had been expecting to wake up alone but still wasn't happy about it. The sheets were cold and pushed back, suggestive of what should have been there. He sighed and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He found a text from Aria on his phone saying that she and Pepper weren't coming around today to give them space. He replied with a quick thanks.

Then he smelt it. Bacon and syrup. Steve's stomach growled in hunger and he smiled, standing up with a yawn to grab his dressing gown. Was Tony making him breakfast?

No. He wasn't.

Doctor Gleason was. He looked oddly comfortable in their over-priced, over-large, over-gadgeted kitchen, piling the final pancake onto a plate before turning around to see Steve. "Ah! I thought the smell might coax you down," he tried for a warm smile. "That's quite a crowd outside. Very loud and stupid."

"I'm very sorry you have to deal with that," Steve said, taking a seat at the breakfast whilst he watched the doctor mill around. He was wearing the apron that Phil had given him for his birthday. ( _My patriotism brings all the boys to the yard_. "It was too cheesy not to get it for you," he'd explained.  He'd had to play Steve the song at the time so he could understand the reference.)

"Nonsense." Gleason pushed the plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him along with a glass of orange juice. It was a Steve-sized portion. "It was therapeutic, not to mention invigorating.  Getting angry at a load of statusists really gets the blood flowing," he tried to joke. Steve nearly smiled. Gleason was a good cook and his food tasted delicious. As he ate he asked the doctor about his kids and husband and Gleason chatted for a while, talking about Anna's college applications and Francis finally presenting as a beta.   (They'd been convinced that he'd present as omega post-puberty, but apparently he was just a very slender, omega-y beta.)  Dr. Gleason looked excited, happy, and Steve realised he was sitting there talking with a friend, not just his doctor.

"Maybe if I had a couple of kids and started behaving myself, that crowd'd stop stomping all over the begonias," he joked meekly.

"It's not true, what they're saying, Steve. None of it." David said, fixing him a serious look and Steve swallowed down the last piece of bacon.

"I know," he said, trying to not to sound defensive.  "...there isn't even any landscaping outside the gates.  I just... I want the crowd to go away already.  Don't these people have jobs?"

Steve quickly finished his breakfast and they moved over to the couch so Gleason could inspect his neck. He didn't comment on the fact that both marks had stayed. "It's healed wonderfully. Really, I don't know how you do it... well, I know _how,_ but still. I won't need to do daily check-ups anymore. Maybe I should come back on Sunday, just to give you a final once over?"

"Sure," Steve said. "That would be swell."

"I saw your video, you know. I think it was very brave of you, telling everyone like that."

Steve did smile properly then.

"Where's Tony?" David suddenly asked. Usually he got an opportunity to at least say hello to the man.

"He was working late. I don't actually know," Steve admitted sheepishly. The doctor opened his mouth before Steve continued before he could speak. "It's the anniversary of his parents' death. Not a good time for him right now."

"It's not a good time for you either," Gleason pointed out. "And they're dead. You, however, are very much still alive."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "I can't feel him."

"...Tony?"

"No. Bucky. I know there's _this--_ " Steve gestured to his neck. "But apparently I still had that in the forties and... ever since he was POW under HYDRA, I can't feel him. Does that mean they screwed around with his bonding stuff, or does that just mean he's... empty?" he asked, frowning at the thought. Gleason frowned back.

"It could be for a multitude of reasons, Steve. But an omega never stops feeling their Alpha for no reason. We're not like Alphas, who can distance themselves from the bond. The bond is like a tether; it can only go so far before it pulls you back in. From what it sounds like, Barnes is a very sick man who had a lot of horrible things happen to him. It might not be a bad thing that you're not feeling him, as horrible as that is to admit. Just because he doesn't have a life anymore doesn't mean you can't have one."

"But... but what if I could help him? Help him get better?" Steve asked.

"Steve. For your own sake. I would focus on the bond you have now, not the one you lost." David put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "It's been seventy years, hasn't it? That man is not the Barnes you knew."

"He knew my mother's name. It's why he stopped trying to assault me the first time. I remember that."

But Steve had also remembered that fear. That raging fear of men smacking him against walls in back alleys before Bucky had appeared. The fear of Schmidt dragging him to the ground. The fear he'd felt when he was in Tony's simulation and he'd thought he was an angel. And Bucky, _Bucky_ , had made him feel that fear. For a split second after Karpov had given the order and Bucky had lunged, Steve had truly believed he was going to do it.

Gleason pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I'm so sorry Steve. But I don't have the answers. I've never heard of an omega who couldn't feel their Alpha.  I will see you on Sunday, yes?"

Steve nodded his gaze dropping to the floor. "Right. Sunday."

The doctor showed himself out.

* * *

 

It was JARVIS who woke Tony.  Tony sat up blearily, looked around at the mess he'd made over the night.  Papers and photos and empty glasses were scattered everywhere.

JARVIS was pleasantly reciting his usual morning monologue.  "The date is Thursday, March third, and the current temperature is fifty-four--"

"JARVIS.  Can it," said Tony, who had a headache.  Also, he didn't want to be reminded of the date.  It was only twelve days-- less than two weeks-- until his parents' deaths anniversary and he didn't want to think about that.

He got to his feet unsteadily and began stomping upstairs.  The smell of bacon assailed him. Right. Steve was an early riser.  Tony took a deep, steadying breath to calm himself, wanting to be strong for Steve, wanting to focus on the others' problems instead of his own.

He nearly collided with Dr. Gleason on his way out.

"Shit!  ...you know, my house used to be a private place!" he snapped.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," said Gleason pleasantly.  "I was hoping to run into you." He held out a brochure.

Tony took it warily, assuming it was for AA.  It wasn't.

"The hell is this?" he asked, turning it over.

"It's a support group for people, mostly Alphas, whose mates have been forced-bonded.  That can be a traumatic experience, and not just for the omega."

"I don't need therapy," said Tony.

"It's not therapy.  Just a little support group."

Tony frowned and tossed the pamphlet onto a nearby end table.  "...be careful out there," he warned.

"Oh, it's fine, I've seen worse.  But thank you," said Gleason as he made toward the front door.

Tony staggered into the kitchen, suddenly aware he'd had the whole conversation with Gleason barefoot, in his underwear.

He found Steve in the kitchen, on round 2 of breakfast.  He walked up and wrapped his arms around him front behind.  Steve's neck looked much better. What had initially looked like a single mangled bite had resolved into two overlapping marks.  It wasn't as good as his own mark being untouched... but it was definitely far, far better than Barnes's mark replacing his entirely.

"Hey, Steve," said Tony, setting his chin on Steve's shoulder.  "Whatcha makin'? ...bacon? ...did you and Gleason eat breakfast together?  ...I'm sorry I didn't come to bed last night. I was going through some of..."  He hesitated. "...some of Dad's old stuff."

Oh, boy.

"...I... sorta... I do that.  Before... y'know."

Tony did not want to talk about it.  Tony did not want to think about it.

"Sorry.  I should have come to bed.  I wasn't tired and then I just sorta... well... fell asleep."   _Passed out._ "Anyway, I promise tonight I won't do that.  Today's just for us, okay? Tomorrow is your big speech and so I wanna make sure today is relaxing.  ...how about I finish with this and you let me serve you? I can probably fry bacon without screwing it up."  (Tony had never fried bacon himself, but how hard could it be?) (He had once made a turkey using a microwave oven he built.  The microwave had been twenty-something kilowatts and had had no door, so he'd tested it in the garage. The turkey had taken about twenty minutes to cook before bursting into flames and Tony had also melted the paint off one of his dad's cars and shorted out half of the house's electronics.  It was one of few times that Aaliyah had actually hit him; _"You could have killed someone wit' dat ting!"_ she'd yelled, which was true, although Tony had pointed out that he'd aimed the oven away from the door and that unless you stepped directly in front of it, you were unlikely to get fried. It didn't matter.  He'd been in a ton of trouble. Dinner had been Chinese food and Tony was sent upstairs without getting to have any _kai kou xiao_ for dessert.  That had been a weird Thanksgiving.)

"Okay," Steve said quietly and pulled away from the counterand consequently out of Tony's grasp. His conversation with the doctor had left him feeling strange and he didn't really know what to think. He also knew that Tony probably drank himself to sleep last night. He sighed. It wasn't like the anniversary was tomorrow. Steve had ten more days of this.

He watched Tony cook, or at least, try to cook. The sight was sweet. Steve leaned his head in his hands and let his eyes slip shut briefly.

The tracker on their ankles was so light it was easy to forget it was there. But the stark black plastic against Steve's pale skin was quite startling. It stood out. It reminded Steve of what he'd done every waking moment. He moved to pick at the plastic but then looked up when Tony placed a plate of slightly charred bacon and egg in front of him. "Thank you Tony," he said, sounding sleepy as he reached for his fork.  "Gleason's coming on Sunday and then that's it. He says I don't need anymore check ups," Steve said between mouthfuls. "That's good, right?"

"...that's great," agreed Tony, moving into the kitchen to grab a carton of orange juice and a bottle of vodka from the fridge.  He began mixing himself a Screwdriver. "...how're you feeling? About the... neck? It doesn't look so bad." He tried to sound like he believed that.

At least his mark was still partially visible; at least he still had some small claim to Steve.  Bucky's mark was bigger and deeper but Tony's was still there, at least.

Steve felt a sinking feeling tug in his gut as he watched Tony make himself a drink. It was probably around eleven in the morning. He bit back a frown. Gleason's words rattled around in his head... _they're dead. You, however, are very much still alive._ He sighed and stared down at his bacon.

Tony finished pouring himself his drink and, leaving the orange juice and vodka on the counter, walked over to Steve to watch him eat.  He reached up and touched the back of Steve's neck, lightly.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the brush of Tony's fingers and he swallowed. "It's still- it's still sensitive there," he said quickly. Steve didn't want Tony touching it. It wasn't that it hurt, really. He just felt _dirty_ whenever he thought about it, and Tony touching him there certainly didn't help.

"Sorry," said Tony quickly, drawing his hand away.  He settled down at the table with his orange juice and looked out the back window.  Tony's home had lots of windows; it was a very airy place.

He picked up a piece of bacon begrudgingly and chewed on it slowly. "So today is for relaxing... huh?"

"...yeah, just for relaxing.  I was thinking of just hanging out around the pool.  Maybe hitting the gym and sauna. Taking care of myself."  During the two months in Colorado, Tony had done literally nothing that would be considered even remotely healthy.

He didn't pull his gaze away from the window.  He felt pained that Steve didn't want him touching his neck.  Tony had meant for it to be a kind gesture, letting Steve know he didn't care about the other's mark.  ....he did, of course. But he wanted Steve to know that he was still desirable. Steve's shyness made Tony feel awful.  Like he was in trouble, almost.

"...it'll be good for us to get outside.  Get some sun," continued Tony, struggling to keep the conversation upbeat.  "...I mean, unless there's something else you wanna do? Whatever you want, Steve.  Your choice."

He swigged the orange juice, then added, casually, "I saw Gleason on the way out.  He, uh, gave me like... like a pamphlet for some support group."

"The pool sounds good," Steve said, perking up at the mention of it. He liked the thought of sitting at the bottom, seeing how well he could hold his breath still. There was something he loved about underwater swimming.  Despite the experience of drowning in the ocean, he still liked Tony's pool.  Maybe part of that was because it was heated and well-lit.

"Support for what?" he asked, raising a brow. "Like... for Alphas who have to deal with... this?" It made sense. Steve knew that Tony was trying to put on a brave face. "That sounds like a good idea," Steve hummed and moved to brush his fingers against Tony's hand in a silent apology that'd rejected the touch to his neck.

It would be nice to think Tony had some kind of support. Steve had a therapist now, and Gleason, too; who did Tony have? He needed other Alphas who understood his predicament.  Steve had trouble sympathizing with Tony's constant obsession with things like dominance hierarchies.

Tony frowned a little.  He was surprised that Steve thought it was a good idea.  He thought it was stupid and had sort of assumed Steve would agreed that it was silly.  Steve was the one who needed support, not Tony.

He followed Steve out to the back deck, watching as Steve stripped and dove into the pool.  He grabbed the pamphlet on the way out to look it over, along with the bottle of vodka and the carton of orange juice.

Steve pulled off his shirt and pushed down his pants and then jumped into the pool without another moment's hesitation.

Tony flopped into a pool chair, peeling off his shirt and lying there in just his boxers, watching Steve glide through the crystal water like a dolphin.  Tony set the bottle and carton by the side of the chair and flipped open the pamphlet, bored. What the hell was he supposed to say? _"I drove my omega away and it's my fault he was force-bonded and now he doesn't even want me to touch his neck?"_  Yeah, that'd go over well.  Tony was the one who had distanced himself from Steve in the first place.  And if he weren't such a weak Alpha to begin with, maybe Steve's body wouldn't have accepted the other mark.  

He didn't need support.  He had Steve.  What else could a guy ask for, anyway?

After a few moments, Tony tossed the pamphlet aside and closed his eyes to work on his tan.


	42. Smut and Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned: this is a long chapter. And not much happens... just pancakes and sex and some Bucktastic antics.
> 
> I suppose I could have cut out the entire part with Doug making pancakes but I refuse, because a) Captain America canonically prefers pancakes over waffles, and b) the Marvel marketing team came out with a Captain America WAFFLE IRON. Until this injustice is rectified and they replace that waffle iron with a griddle, I am going to insist on feeding Steve pancakes in most fics. Sorry, not sorry. - T

Wanda was in the bath, eyes closed, head back.  Hot water was a luxury she and Pietro rarely had.

Her relaxation was interrupted suddenly; the door banged open and Bucky walked in.

She shrieked, putting her arms up to cover her chest.  " _JAMES!_ "

"I want you to help me feel him."

" _What?!_  James, I'm in the bath!"

Bucky didn't seem to care.  "You went into my head. You made me think things.  I want you to do it again so I can feel him."

" _James_.  _I'm naked_."

"...Pietro comes in when you're in the bath," pointed out Bucky, who made no motion to leave.

Wanda was curled up, arms still crossed over her chest.  "That's different! He's my brother! And at least he knocks!"

"I want to feel him," repeated Bucky, stubbornly.  A pause. "...please, Wanda."

It was the first time he had ever called her by her name.  For some reason, Bucky's programming had made it difficult for him to identify people as individuals.  Aside from Karpov, Bucky tended to refer to people by their traits. "The girl," "the omega," "the blond," "the tall one," "the man with the blue eyes..."  Bucky rarely referred to anyone by name. Lately, he'd been calling Pietro and Steve by theirs, but Wanda had always just been "the girl."

Hearing him finally acknowledge her as a person mellowed her out a little.  Some of the tension went out of her shoulders, but she didn't move from her position.

"Fine.  But let me finish bathing, please?  Get out."

Bucky obediently left to wait in the bedroom.

She came out a half-hour later in a white hotel robe, her hair wrapped in a towel.

"Okay.  Explain where this came from," she demanded.

"I was watching Maury--"

"You need to watch less television," she said disapprovingly.

"--and there was an omega who was angry at her Alpha for distancing himself.  She said she couldn't feel him anymore. Alphas should always be able to feel their omegas."  Bucky's eyes glazed over a little. "But I couldn't. After we got captured at Azzano, he took us and he injected us and I got sick.  And I stopped feeling him. I thought he was dead. Then he came for me. And I was happy. And then I saw the mark was gone. I thought it was that stuff they gave him to make him bigger.  But I couldn't feel him anymore. I was empty." His stormy grey eyes refocused on Wanda's. "...I fixed the mark. I bonded him. But I can't feel him very well."

"They scrambled your brain like an egg," said Wanda.

"I want to feel him.  I want him to feel me.  I want him to know I love him and I miss him and I'll protect him.  I'm a good Alpha."

Wanda sighed.  "It's very hard, you know."

"Try?"

Wanda sighed again.  She sat on the edge of the bed.  "I can try. But I cannot make any promises.  Close your eyes. Think about him.  It's easier for me like that."

Bucky obeyed.

Wanda sat beside him, watching his face.  Then, carefully, she brought her hands up.  Her brows knitted.

Bucky was easy to find.  His mind was cracked open, suggestible, pliable.  His thoughts were simplistic and linear, predictable, steady.  Wanda was a beta but she had hijacked plenty of Alpha and omega minds.  She, perhaps better than any beta in history, knew how they perceived the world.  She slowly peeled away the layers, her own thoughts lighting on his, fleeting, never landing, skimming through the intricate mindscape of thoughts, memories, emotions, and perceptions.

Bucky sat on the bed and felt a terrible sense of invasion as she began picking into his consciousness.  A feeling like a cold egg being smashed against his head, but on the inside, coupled with a throbbing behind-the-eyes headache and a drop in his stomach like he'd fallen suddenly.  And then flashes of memories, thoughts unbidden, as she called them up for him.

Flashes came to her, sharp colors and smells and emotions.  And suddenly, _there_.  A seam.  An "other."  That's how bonds felt to her, as a beta, a sort of mental stitch.  A clear line demarking one mind from another, yet so obviously connected, woven together.

"Got him," she said through clenched teeth.  Her whole body was taut, her fingers bent into unnatural angles, as if they'd all been broken.

 _Him_.

It was like falling back onto a big, fluffy bed.

Bucky's mouth twitched in a smile.  _Steve_ , he thought, fondly.  Love, longing, a desire to nurture and protect and provide for.  Bucky felt whole again; he felt a range of emotions he hadn't in probably seventy years.  There were no words but none were needed. Their bond, like most, was one of feeling, of emotions.

_I'm coming._

_My omega._

And then, just like that, Steve was gone, and Bucky was suddenly enveloped in a dark, empty place, an echo-chamber without any windows.

Bucky's eyes snapped open and he let out a half-white, half-growl.

Wanda's hands had dropped into her lap and she was pale and trembling.

"More," he demanded.

She shook her head.  "I can't. It's _hard_ , James.  It's hard to do."

"More!" he insisted.

"I'm too tired now."

"Wanda.  More," he pressed.  "It's empty now. Please.  I'm alone. He needs me. I need him.  We're bonded. Wanda. Please." His face was expressionless, yet tears were running down it.  He did not seem aware of them.

Wanda looked sympathetic; she reached out and put a hand on his knee.  "Later, James. I need a nap. It's exhausting to be in someone else's mind and to control their thoughts.  But listen. The bond is there. Someday you'll be able to do it yourself, if you try hard enough."

"It hurts," said Bucky.  "It hurts to be alone. I feel... I feel like... like I lost something.  Like I'm not whole. Like an amputee."

Wanda patted his knee, looking uncomfortable, unwilling to point out that Bucky _was_ an amputee.  The last thing she wanted to deal with now was yet another realization that he had lost his left arm.

* * *

Steve loved swimming. Once he learned to get over his dislike of water, or rather the _sea_ , specifically, he'd grown to love it again. Steve enjoyed the rush that the tightness in his chest gave him every time he hit the one minute mark under the water. Growing up as an asthmatic in a crowded tenement building in a bustling city, he'd never quite been able to catch his breath.  Now, he could hold it for impressively long amounts of time.

He twisted in and around the water, coming up for air occasionally before diving back down. The sun was streaming through the water, dancing over the curves of his body in the water.  He liked the movement, the freedom.  The celebration of his body, which had once been so broken and now was so fantastically _capable_.

Steve swam down to the bottom of the pool; he crossed his legs on the pool floor, back straight as he closed his eyes. Steve was holding his breath. He'd just passed the thirty second mark. He could do another minute-thirty if he put his mind to it. It felt good down here. Like his mind was finally _empty_. It was like no one could get to him down there, no one with their stupid shitty statusist views, their weird outdated opinions that should have died a century ago, like Steve should have--

And then he heard it and Steve's eyes cracked open in the water.

_I'm coming._

_My omega._

Steve felt a strange sensation in his chest. He reached up a hand to his own chest, feeling his own heart beat.

It wasn't really hearing.  More of a feeling.  But it was unmistakable.

 _Bucky_.

_...or was it...HYDRA?_

Steve realized his lungs were burning. It had been at least two minutes. He pushed up from the pool floor to hit the surface and breathed out heavily.

He swam to the edge of the pool and rested against it heavily, his gaze distant. He didn't know what to think or how to feel. He'd never felt so goddamn confused.  Should he report this?  After the incident with his heat, everyone was worried he was compromised.  But Gideon Malick told him he didn't even work for SHIELD as an active field agent anymore, so why should he tell them?

Tony heard a splash and cracked open one lazy eye.  Steve was on the side of the pool, arms folded on the deck, cheek on the ground, staring off into the distance.

"You're not tired already, are you, super-soldier?" called Tony teasingly.

He was aware that there was a sense of... unease.  He hadn't really been paying attention to Steve but suddenly he was overly conscious of his omega feeling upset.

"...hey.  You okay?" ventured Tony.  He sat up. Steve's expression was faraway.  Shit. Was he having a flashback or something?  Tony knew Steve could occasionally be weird about water, since he'd technically drowned before, but Tony had thought he'd mostly gotten over than phobia.

He got up and crossed the smooth rock deck to kneel beside Steve.  "Hey. Hey, Steve, snap out of it. Talk to me. What's going on?" asked Tony, reaching over to run his hands through Steve's wet hair.

Even though it was a completely inappropriate thought, Tony couldn't help just admire Steve's body.  The beads of water on his broad shoulders glistened and the muscles rippled under the surface of his skin like a tiger's.  Holy hell, Steve was gorgeous. Like an Adonis, a carved marble statue. And here in the pool, in only his boxers... Tony was reminded, again, uncomfortably, of the omegas that worked at the country club in his childhood, who wore only shorts or sarongs and collars, who were always tan and smiling and attractive.

"...Steve?"

"I just... I thought I felt something but it's gone now," Steve whispered, head automatically arcing up to look at Tony as fingers ran through his hair. He'd missed that feeling the two months he'd been away. "It's fine Tony. I promise. I just had a moment. And now it's gone."

 _He's gone_.

Tony's mouth twitched at the way Steve rolled his head into Tony's caress.

He didn't really believe that nothing was wrong, but he let it drop.  He didn't like talking about feelings.

Steve tried to a smile. "I know what song I'm going to sing," he said and then he dipped back under and out of Tony's touch.

Steve went back to swimming, and Tony retired back to his padded lounge chair, lazing in the California sunshine, sipping vodka and orange juice as he watched Steve glide through the water.  There was a tinge of guilt to Tony's admiration. He didn't want to be creepy and objectify Steve; Steve had been through a traumatic experience, after all. But it was damn near impossible not to ogle at him. His body was perfect, after all.  Muscular, but, because he was an omega, still slender and lithe, with little body hair. And then there were those big blue eyes, so expressive...

Tony wondered if Steve would notice if he slipped off to masturbate.  Tony's pool had been home to a number of gorgeous creatures in the past, but none quite like Steve.

Steve had started doing lengths underwater, trying to focus on his exercise and ignore the chilling feeling of Bucky's thoughts plaguing on his mind. Maybe it was like when he'd been trying to tell Tony he was in Yemen. Bucky reaching out.  Then again, maybe it was something like-- maybe HYDRA was just trying to fuck with him _through_ Bucky. It wouldn't be the first time.  Was it supposed to be comforting, or a warning?  Unclear.  Often he'd had the sense of Bucky coming, or his arrival, usually when Steve was getting creamed in a back-alley brawl and Bucky appeared to save him.

That had been more or less the cornerstone of their relationship in the '30s and '40s.  Bucky protecting Steve.  Bucky arriving when he needed to.

But there was something else in his chest.  Was that... arousal? Oh. _Oh_. Well, he was basically swimming around a pool naked and Tony was his mate. It was likely Tony's arousal.

Steve swallowed. They still hadn't...

It felt like the longer they left it, the harder it was going to be (pun not intended). But Steve wouldn't sleep with Tony drunk, and there probably wouldn't be a single night this week when he _wasn't_ drunk. March was too hard for him, in between the anniversary of his escape from Afghanistan and his parents' death.  Steve sighed, bubbles bobbling up to the surface.

He did another length and popped up again for air to see Tony sitting down but still watching him. Steve cocked a brow at him, the gesture almost teasing, and then he sank back under again.

Tony huffed.  He rose and walked back into the house, flopping onto the couch and closing his eyes as he pulled out his dick.  He wasn't sure when Steve would be ready but he didn't dare pressure him. Steve was lucky he hadn't been raped, too; the likelihood of an Alpha bonding an omega without also mating them was like one-in-a-million.

Steve could hear bird song as he closed his eyes and floated on his back. It was pleasant, serene and he felt better already. The echo of Bucky's thoughts in his head distant and no longer so unnerving. He let his eyes slip and heard Tony pad off into the house, smirking a little when he felt a little twinge of arousal in his own belly. But it wasn't his own. It was almost cute... how polite Tony was being about it.

In the relative privacy of his massive living room, teaming with orchids, Tony stroked himself lazily, thinking of Steve, thinking of the way he swam through the water, the gleam of his smile, the way the little beads of water traced lines on his skin, and darkened his soft blond hair... the way they sparkled in the sunlight like jewels on a collar...

Tony pictured Steve wearing one before he could help himself, then immediately felt guilty.  His boner wilted.

 _God damn it_!

He gave himself a few yanks but it was hopeless.  Accidentally objectifying Steve after everything that had just happened made him feel like the lowest piece of shit on the planet.

He got up and went to the kitchen to grab some more OJ; the carton outside had been nearly empty and Tony wasn't done drinking yet.

He walked backed out to find Steve floating on his back.

"I just went to... grab some more juice," said Tony, even though Steve hadn't asked.  Tony set the carton down by the empty one; his gaze fell on the pamphlet that Gleason had dropped off.

Did other Alphas self-sabotage their masturbatory sessions over this stuff?  Was that the sort of thing the group talked about?

Tony flipped open the pamphlet.  His gaze landed on the phrase _secondary survivor_.  He frowned.  This wasn't about him; this was about Steve.  He'd feel like an ass if he went to a support group; _Steve_ deserved a support group, not him.

"Juice?  So that's what they're calling it nowadays?" Steve replied, sounding amused as he cracked one eye open to look over at Tony.

He swam up to the side of the pool and rested his head on his forearms, watching Tony's brows knit together as he read over the pamphlet. "I think you should try it," Steve said. "It will be good to talk to other Aces in similar situations. They'll understand better than anyone else, Tony."

And Steve meant it. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to feel isolated over this.

"...I'm not really into drum circles.  I don't wanna sit there and sing Kumbaya with a bunch of losers," replied Tony, pushing the pamphlet away.

"You know..." He cleared his throat. "If you want something you _can_ ask for it, right? That's not gonna hurt anyone," Steve tried to point out as un-awkwardly as possible.  He was pretty sure he failed.

Tony looked away.  "It's fine, Steve.  I just... y'know, I missed you.  But we don't have to do anything until you're ready.  I've got two very handy hands and some killer high-speed internet, y'know? I'm sorry, it's just... you know you look hot, right?  ...and the way you arch into my hand when I pet you... I missed that, Steve." Tony smiled a little and got up to walk over to the side of the pool and run his hand through Steve's hair again.  "...I'm just glad... I'm glad at least part of my mark's still there. Like, I have a partial claim to you, y'know... like... like at least your body _sorta_ recognized me, instead of replacing me completely.  ...but if it had, I would've deserved it. I pushed you away." He scooted closer to the edge of the pool to dip his feet in, observing the way the light refracted so that his legs looked they'd been sliced apart and then pushed back together a little off-center.

A little shiver ran down Steve's spine when Tony's fingers moved through his hair again. Steve smiled subtly, almost shyly. He moved in the water to tread water between Tony's legs so he could still talk to him and keep eye contact. "I don't think it will be like that, a drum circle. I think you should give a shot. Just one session?  For me?" Steve asked, sounding as sweet as ever.

This would be good for Tony. Steve had no doubt. He hadn't had enough Alphas in his life who weren't assholes.

Tony scoffed.  "But I don't want to-- damn it.  I'm sorry, Steve.  I love you. You're my omega  _One_ session."  Tony swirled his feet idly in the water.  The sun bleached out the glow of the arc reactor.  Tony looked up. "So about tomorrow.  I thought Malick said no performances or anything.  ...what song were you gonna sing? You gonna do it anyway?"

"I'm not gonna mention status. Just gonna sing a song and then leave. And the song is a surprise," Steve added, a playful sort of glint in his eyes.

He curled his hands onto the side of the pool either side of Tony's hips and ducked down briefly before rising up, lifting up his entire body on his arms so they were face to face. Normally this  kind of position would make a man's arms at least tremble with the effort. But Steve's didn't. He looked comfortable, like he could just hold himself up like this hours. Water dripped down him and it gleamed in the sunlight. Their faces were close, closer than they had been since Steve returned, and the omega's blue eyes were dragging over Tony's face slowly.

"Tell me what else you missed," Steve whispered, his breath tickling against Tony's cheek.

Tony swallowed, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close Steve was to him.

"...I missed... I missed the way you try not to blush when I whisper dirty words in your ear.  I miss the way it feels when we've just made love and we're knotted and we just lay there for a while holding each other.  I miss the way you let me grab your wrists and pretend to pin you down even though we both know you're stronger than me."

Tony leaned in a little to press his lips against the corner of Steve's mouth.

"...I missed sex," he admitted quietly.  "I missed boring, missionary-style-before-bed sex with my omega.  I missed breakfast the next morning and accidentally breaking furniture and ruining the sheets.  God, Stevie, I _missed_ you."

Tony reached up and placed a hand on Steve's cheek, turning his head so he could kiss him properly, on the lips.  The kiss was open-mouthed and passionate, but without tongue. Tony didn't want to push him. Not so soon.

He pulled away with a sad half-smile, studying Steve's sapphire-blue eyes, one hand still cupping his cheek.  "I never thought I'd end up bonded. Not in a million years. But every time I see you or smell you, I just... it's like I fall in love all over again.  It's incredible. I'm so glad to have you back, Steve. I'm never gonna let you go again."

Steve looked emotional, and for once, not in a bad way. He looked overwhelmed. And he was, with a strange sense of happiness, perhaps even gratitude. He studied Tony's face intently and then kissed him again and the kiss was filthy and rough and a little awkward, lips parting and tongues nudging together, teeth clicking. Steve trembled against him. When they finally parted for air his cheeks were pink and eyes a touch darker.

"I like it when you pin me down," Steve whispered hotly in agreement and then he sank back down under the water.

The sunlight shimmered on the surface as ripples were created by his movement. The brilliant blue of the pool tiles just made him look more golden and the sun almost made him glow. He was certainly magnificent, but he was more than just what the serum had made him.

His head poked back up over the surface of the water and he watched Tony with a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. "Well, don't you wanna swim?"

Tony's mouth twitched.  "Alright, alright." He slid his body into the water with a sigh of contentment.  The water was heated and after the cool sea air it was delicious; his skin broke out in goosebumps.

He kicked off the wall and floated onto his back, drifting past Steve.  "...don't challenge me to a race," he warned. "I'm too competitive; I'll kill myself trying to keep up with you.  Besides, I'm an old man." He grinned lazily, and he looked like his old self again: the cocky, snarky, self-sure playboy that the media drooled after.  With the beard pruned back to his laser-precision goatee, he could have easily passed for a man in his thirties. This was something most people who knew Tony never forgave him for; despite all of the alcohol abuse and the bizarre sleep schedules and almost revolting eating habits, Tony's body looked good.  Real good. It was no mystery why; Howard Stark had always looked younger than his age, and when he had passed in his seventies, he hadn't looked a day over 55. The only indication he'd really aged at all was his hair, which went grey in his fifties. Even though, it still thick and full and of the "silver fox" variety.  Tony owed his genetics a lot for keeping him fit. Of course, his periodic health crazes helped, too. Once a year, Tony went through a manic phase of juice-cleansing and working out that concerned everyone just as much as his usual party-boy lifestyle did.

Steve smiled triumphantly as Tony slipped into the water. He slipped under Tony's body, diving in and around him in seamless, streamlined movements. He was teasing him, that much was evident. Maybe it was because he couldn't help himself. Or maybe it was Steve's way of flirting.

Tony reached out for Steve's hand to get him to hold still.  "...you know, otters hold hands when they sleep, to keep from floating away from each other," he informed Steve lazily.  He'd heard that on a nature documentary he'd watched, half-stoned, during his time in Colorado. A pause. "...they also rape baby seals to death, apparently.  And collect rocks. ...a funny animal, the otter." He stifled a contented yawn. The warmth of the pool was relaxing.

"You just ruined offers for me," Steve complained and nipped lightly at the fingers that stretched out to him before diving back under.

He moved to sit on the pool floor again, closing his eyes as Tony's silhouette rippled over him through the water. Steve smiled and opened them again as he saw Tony drifting further along the pool, practically seeing the tension easing out of the other. Steve pushed off the bottom before he ran out of air and gently ran his fingertips across Tony's back, emerging beside him. He took in a long breath.

"What were you thinking about?" he whispered. "When you went inside?"

Tony shivered when he felt Steve's fingers trail his back.

"About you, baby.  What else?" he said.  He gave a single, lazy kick, drifting slowly across the pool.  He paused. "...you... you felt it, didn't you? That you were turning me on?  I'm sorry, Steve, I'm trying to be sensitive to all the shit you're going through, but... but I haven't seen in you in the flesh for months and now you're here in my pool and I forgot how goddamned hot you are.  I was just gonna go rub one out but... yeah, no, it's fine." Tony twisted, righting himself suddenly, treading water. "Hey, Steve? Remember how when I asked to see your neck you made me promise not to hate you?  You know I could never hate you for that, right? I mean, you didn't make that decision to accept the mark. Your body did. And it did what it did for a very legit biological reason, which is, let's face it, Barnes is a hell of a lot more dominant than me."

Tony paused, legs and arms making wide, lazy sweeps in the water.  He glanced down. The ankle monitor was wavy beneath the surface. At least they were waterproof, thought Tony vaguely.  Wait, were they? He sure hoped so, otherwise SHIELD was going to have to drive over and give them new ones.

"...can I ask you something and you won't hate me?" asked Tony, voice low.  "...I think you're hot as fuck, Steve. That's why... well... I guess that's why I hired you back when you were spying on me, and why I was always teasing you and arguing with you, and then... then when I found out who you really were... I guess that's also why I decided I had to have you.  And the reason this has worked is that you're not just your looks. You're also this... insanely noble person. I mean, seriously, it's infuriating, sometimes I just wanna smack you, you're so... _pure_ , like, everything you do is always about saving people and being this... courageous hero with a heart of gold... and speaking as a man with a heart of metal myself, it's very inspiring.  But, anywho, the thing is, I never stopped noticing your looks, either. I mean, you're basically perfect in the looks department. A ten out of ten. So, you know, I think about you a lot."  Tony paused. He hadn't actually asked Steve a thing during his speech but Steve was waiting patiently. Another thing about Steve: unlike Tony, he was capable of letting people get to their points, even when they took a while to get there.

After a long, patient pause, Tony continued.  "So the thing is... uh... remember when Malick said only collared omegas ever went up to the lounge?  Which I didn't know, by the way, I swear. I never even noticed there were Alpha-only restaurants, I just never thought about it.  And you said, uh, you said you're rather show up naked. ...I dunno... maybe it was 'cause I had a few drinks but.... I thought that was sexy."

Steve was watching him.

"...the first part," clarified Tony awkwardly.  "...but I swear," he added hastily, "I'm like, completely aware of how fucked up that is and you know I think of us as equals and I would never degrade you like that.  I'm behind you all the way with this whole omega rights thing. It was just a... you know, a weird fluke, I don't know, it just sort of... reminded me about... you know, my childhood, I mean, when I went through puberty, there were still lots of collared omegas and... and you know... but obviously it wasn't, like, a conscious choice to be turned on by that and I'm not going to think about it any more.   I'm sorry, Steve. I seriously feel like more of an asshole than usual for that. Sometimes my brain just goes weird places. Especially when I'm horny." The last part was perfectly true. When you're a billionaire, you get to try out a lot of avant-garde sexual past times, and Tony had had his fair share of kinky sex, especially in the nineties, when he dabbled in coke. Looking back on it, Tony was surprised at how mellow his life had become, even _with_ the addition of the rocket-launching flying robot suit he occasionally used to engage terrorists with.

Steve was quiet for a little while. It was nice to be told you were hot, of course, although Steve had slightly cheated in the looks department (with a massive helping hand from science). But hearing Tony talk about it, hearing him talk about how he was frustrated-- that was sort of a turn on in Steve's books. He'd never thought of himself as being frustrated since he got back but feeling how Tony was turned on by him couldn't help but get Steve excited himself.

"You can't help what you get turned on by Tony," Steve assured him, voice totally calm. He didn't look annoyed like Tony might have expected; he just looked understanding. "And I know you don't mean it in a degrading way. You can't help how you _feel_ Tony. And you did just spent like the past ten minutes telling me how hot you think I am like.  What guy doesn't wanna hear that, come on."

He was smiling a little, looking mischievous all over again. Steve leaned in to nip at his ear gently before murmuring. "I'm not as delicate as you think, Tony.  You can ask me for stuff.  What happened in Yemen was... shitty.  But we're still mates.  ...and I missed you."

"I missed you, too.  More than just sexually," said Tony, adding in the last part quickly, clearly worried Steve might think he meant otherwise.

Steve smiled patiently.  "What if I let you use something like a piece of ribbon? It's not a collar, but you could still tie it around and it would look close enough that you could pretend."

Tony shook his head a little.  He was slightly amazed at how well Steve was receiving this and also a little irked that, as usual, Steve was being level-headed and considerate.

"No.  No, it's not the same.  And anyways I'd never ask that of you, Steve.  I would feel too bad. Just forget it, okay? ...and... thanks.  You know, for... not thinking I'm a terrible person."

Tony leaned back and floated away again, staring up at the sun, squinting a little against the brightness.

A headache stabbed suddenly behind his eyes and he squeezed them shut.  In retrospect, staring at the sun wasn't the smartest thing to--

_Stevie.  My omega._

Tony twisted in the water with a splash, accidentally swallowing some and going into a fit of coughing.  He dragged himself to the side of the pool, still sputtering.

Were those thoughts _his_ , or...?

His head was still pounding.  And his ears were ringing.

No.  Wait.  That was _actual_ ringing.  From inside the house.

"I'll get it," wheezed Tony, flopping out onto the deck and scrambling toward the kitchen to grab Steve's cell phone.  He flipped it open without checking who it was. "Whaddya want?"

"...Tony?"  It was Natasha.  Though there was a lot of background noise.  It sounded like she at a fucking preschool or something.

"...where the hell're you, a career fair at an elementary school or something?" demanded Tony.

"What?  No, I'm with Clint, and-- hold on, it's just the television, I'll go outside."

"...geez, seriously, how loud is that television?  Is Clint deaf or something?" asked Tony, oblivious to the water he was dripping all over the floor.

There was a pause, and Natasha said, "...uh, yes."

"What?"

"Yes.  Clint is mostly deaf."

"Since _when_?"

"Since always.  He wears a hearing aid.  It's like a cochlear implant thing.  But it was SHIELD property and since we're on unpaid leave, they took it.  I mean, it's fine, he's pretty good at reading lips."

"Jesus Christ.  Don't tell Steve or he'll go on one of his legendary Captain America guilt trips.  ...you wanna talk to him?"

"I was going to invite him over for dinner."

"Cool!  Can I come?"

There was a scuffle and another shriek in the background.

"...seriously, are you sure you're not at a preschool?"

"...no, you can't come.  And yes, I'm very sure I'm not at a preschool.  Put Steve on, Tony."

Tony trudged back outside, leaving a significant puddle in the kitchen.  "STEVE! NATASHA'S ON THE PHONE!" he yelled.

It took Tony a second try to get Steve's attention; he had dived back underwater. Steve pushed himself out of the water, white boxers really not doing much to offer any decency now as he walked over to take the phone.

"Thanks," Steve said with a small smile, clearly already in a far better mood than he had been this morning.

"Nat? Hey, how's it going?"

"Fine," Natasha replied conversationally. "How's being back home?"

"Weird but good," Steve said, moving to grab himself an apple off the countertop and then head upstairs so he could get dry. He put the phone on loud speaker and then chucked it on the bed before shimmying off his pants and going to grab a towel.

Tony trailed after Steve, still oblivious to the water he was dripping everywhere.  He watched the way Steve moved easily. Tony's bedroom was becoming "their" bedroom again; Steve didn't hesitate this time to begin toweling himself off.  Tony sat on the edge of the bed, still in wet boxers, watching him fondly.

"Doctor says my neck is better," said Steve.

"That's great Steve," said Natasha, and he could tell she meant it.

Steve moved to dry his hair, then the rest of himself before pulling on comfortable clothes as he spoke. "How's Clint doing?"

"Oh he's loving it. He loves being a lazy shit."

Steve could hear a distant "hey!" that was probably Clint, and then a clatter of something. Probably Clint again, throwing something at her. Turns out he could read her lips from where she was stood out in the garden.  ...the "Hawkeye" moniker made sense.

"So," Natasha let out a soft breath. "I'm inviting you over for dinner."

"On... Saturday?" Steve guessed.

"Saturday works. We're on this stupid farm in the middle of nowhere. It would be quickest for you to take a jet."

"Jet sounds good. Any excuse to avoid the crowd outside."

"Crowd?" Natasha prompted.

"Got myself a fanclub, didn'tcha hear? Problem i,s not all of 'em are nice," Steve sighed, moving to lie down on the bed next to the phone. "I'm sorry that- I'm sorry about what SHIELD's doing."

"Oh don't worry." Natasha sounded amused all of a sudden. "They think they can separate us. They can't. It's cute, really, how naïve a bunch of old men in suits can be."

Steve thought back to Gideon. "Yeah," he hummed in agreement. "It is."

"I wanna come!" Tony whispered loudly to Steve when he caught his eye.  "We can take the chopper, please, wanna come, why can't I--"

"Coop, put a shirt on!" called Natasha.

"... _Coop_?" repeated Tony, face splitting into a grin.  "...your nickname for Clint is _Coop_?  Oh my God that is delish."

"...Steve, am I on speakerphone?  ...I'm inviting _you_ , not Tony."

"I wanna come!" whined Tony.  "Why can't I--"

"Because Clint's in charge and Clint only wants to see Steve right now.  It's an omega thing."

"...fine, then how 'bout you and me have an Alpha thing and you come see me and we hang out while Steve and Clint go to their stupid special secret clubhouse?"

Natasha let out a long, low sigh.  "...fine, whatever. It's nothing personal, Tony, it's just that... well... actually it _is_ personal.  Clint would rather not have you hanging around his safehouse.  You have a record of making things much less safe. Plus you're kind of a jerk to him."

"...well maybe I wouldn't be a jerk if his hair weren't so stupid."

"See?" said Natasha smugly.

"...okay, okay, I'm sorry!  Look, it's not like he can even hear me anymore, so--"

"Steve, I'll give you the coordinates on Saturday.  See you then," said Natasha, ignoring Tony.

"Thank you Nat!" Steve called back and then she hung up. An _omega thing_? Maybe he would finally be getting some of the mysterious Barton backstory. He knew Clint didn't get serious often, but this felt like one of those times. If he just wanted to see Steve it was probably for a reason, not just a dislike of Tony- though Steve couldn't rule out that possibility entirely.

He sighed and then glanced up at his mate. The edges of his lips twitched up in the hint of a smile. "You _do_ know you're like slowly soaking the entire mattress, right?" he said and then threw his towel into Tony's lap.

Tony glanced down.

"Huh?  Oh."

He got up and peeled off his boxers, then moved a foot to the left and sat back down, still watching Steve.

"...I'm glad you're home again," said Tony.  "...even if you come with a big crowd of protesters and Barton excludes me from your special little meetings.  I swear to God, Steve, if you come home with a special decoder ring or something, I will _lose_ it."

He flopped back onto the bed, pondering what the hell Clint wanted and why Steve was getting treated so nicely.  Then it hit him all over again: Steve had been force-bonded and Clint was reaching out to him, one omega to another.

Still, it didn't seem fair.  It's not like Tony had any Alphas he could--

He remembered the pamphlet Gleason had given him.  He frowned. The group met Saturday.

 _Shit_ , he thought grumpily.  It was like the universe was conspiring to get him to go to that dumb support group.  Tony didn't want to for a lot of reasons, chief among them because that he felt like the other Alphas there would hate him.  It was _his_ fault his mate had been bonded, it was _his_ fault for chasing Steve away. He didn't deserve support or even forgiveness and yet moments earlier Steve had been offering to...

"...would you really... wear a thing for me?" asked Tony, looking up at Steve, who was finishing off his apple.  Somehow, he managed to make even the simple act of eating an apple attractive. Tony would normally lose his mind at someone eating fruit in his room, which was mostly white, because Tony abhorred stickiness.  But with Steve he didn't mind so much.

Steve watched Tony peel his boxers down more intently than he should have, crunching away at the Red Delicious. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Tony naked since he'd gotten back; the other was pretty relaxed about this sort of thing after all. But so far Steve had only seen him when he was getting dressed, or into the shower... and now Tony was just _sitting_ there naked.

He'd missed drawing him, he realised with an ache in his chest. Steve had drawn a lot of nudes of Tony in the past seven months. He'd gotten to know the curves of his thighs and the bumps of his hips and the taught skin of his stomach well. Steve had missed just waking up early and doing sketches of a peaceful and serene-looking Tony as he slept well into the afternoon, having stayed up late the night before working on one of his suits.

"I'm glad I'm home," Steve murmured, blushing and looking away when he realised he was staring.

Steve finished the apple and chucked the chore into the bin in the corner with a perfectly aimed throw. He sucked apple juice off his forefinger and glanced back up at Tony's question. "Hm? Oh."

Well that certainly didn't help with his pink cheek predicament. Steve's throat went a little dry.

"Yeah," he said, voice quiet. "I would."

"...Steve.  ...you're blushing," said Tony, starting to smile.  He gestured for Steve to sit with him on the bed. "...Steve," he said, his face resolving into a more serious expression.  "Listen, I... I don't want to pressure you, okay? For a while I want you to be in charge because I.... I don't understand bonding from your perspective, you know?  I don't want to rush you or anything like that."  He glanced down.  "It's different for Alphas.  We can kinda... ignore it, sort of.  ...I'm sorry I did that, though. I'm glad you're back."

"You're not pressuring me. You're doing like the opposite of that," Steve assured him. He moved to sit on the bed, near Tony's head so he could glance down and meet his gaze. His heart was hammering away in his heat a little. Steve swallowed. "And I don't expect you to understand from my perspective. Just like I can't really understand yours.  We're different.  It's okay.  "

He moved to lie down, staring up at the ceiling. His neck didn't even hurt despite it brushing against the bed sheets. Steve smiled. Progress.

"But..." Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "What if I-" He paused, finding the right words. "What if I don't _want_ to be in charge?" he asked in a whisper.

Tony flopped onto his back, then rolled to his side to face Steve, propping up his head with his elbow.  "...do you think it's 'cause you're an omega? I mean... no offense, it's just... you guys are... inclined toward... _that_ ," he finished lamely.

The funny thing was, it wasn't like it was a secret.  Steve was strong and independent and confident and assertive.  But he was also generally eager to please and take care of Tony.  They'd fallen into those roles naturally. Case in point: Steve had given Tony eight months' worth of blowjobs before Tony had ever put his mouth on him.  Case in point: Steve made Tony breakfast almost every morning and sometimes brought it to him in bed, while Tony was still uncertain as to how to make an omelette without over- or under-cooking it.  Case in point: Steve had been force-bonded and was being impaled by a ruthless media, and yet he was still willing to indulge one of Tony's fantasies.

"I mean, probably. But if I enjoy something I'm not going to question it Tony," Steve said, trying to ignore how his cheeks were still pink.

"...being bonded is terrifying, Steve. Being _in charge_ is terrifying.  When I'm Iron Man, it's just _me_ , you know? But this whole relationship, it's not just me anymore.  I've fucked up already, multiple times, and hurt you, and you keep trusting me and putting me in charge like some sort of moron... I'm not good at this, Steve.  I'm not a good Alpha. I try but I keep fucking everything up. I don't really care about hurting myself, but hurting you... that's a whole 'nother plate of tamales.  I just want you to be happy, that's all." He reached out to brush Steve's cheek. The skin there was smooth; Steve probably only shaved once or twice a month and his peach fuzz was light and soft.  Typical omega.

 "Yeah, you screwed up but so did I Tony. And royally. I lied to Peggy and I literally invited HYDRA to come get me to act out some idiotic revenge fantasy like a lunativ.  This isn't just on you; this is on me too.  Like you said.  It's us, now.  Not just me anymore."  The lapsed into silence.  "What's a tamale?"

"It's a... like a Mexican burrito thing wrapped in a corn husk.  I'll fly one in for you.  ...Brooklyn didn't have a lot of tamales in the '30s, huh?"

"Nope," confirmed Steve.  He breathed out.  "I'm scared of myself, Tony. I didn't know I could be like that-- that I could go that off the rails so badly.  That's why I want you in charge."

"Because I'm so stable?  ...you really _are_ nuts," joked Tony, tracing Steve's jaw, searching for the downy hint of his beard.

When Tony's fingers brushed against his cheek Steve glanced to the side, his blue eyes shifting to the other's face. The touch was gentle and yet intimate, perhaps because of how close their faces were. Steve leaned into the touch a little, his eyes carefully traversing Tony's face. "You make me feel safe.  And happy. Or at least, you do when you actually want me around," Steve whispered, his gaze dropping away. "And making you happy, that makes me happy, too."  Steve trailed off, struggling to say the right thing. He was almost smiling. "Maybe I want you to take what you want Tony.  Ever think about that?"

Tony frowned a little, his hand still on Steve's cheek.  "...but how is that different than forced bonding, Steve?  Isn't that what Barnes did? Took what he wanted?"

Tony didn't ask the question that was circling around his mind.  Had Steve said no? Had Steve actually tried to stop him? Or had he just sort of... let it happen?  And if he let it happen, why? Was it because he cared about Bucky? Because he'd given up on Tony taking him back?  Because, being an omega, he was incapable of saying no to a dominant Alpha who was acting as a protector to him?  Was it because of his heat?  Now that he wasn't in heat, shouldn't he be able to say, firmly, that he didn't want Barnes back in his life?

"It's forced you don't want it," Steve said and half-rolled his eyes. He reached up to curl his fingers over Tony's hand. "I know what you want Tony. I can _feel_ it. And I'm giving you permission to... ask what you want from me.  And to take it.  And if I don't like it, I'll just say no, okay?  Don't even compare this to that. Please."

"...if I can... take... then I'd really like to start sleeping naked again," said Tony.  His eyes flicked up. "No pressure to do anything. I just... I hate wearing clothes in bed.  Do you have any idea the thread count on these sheets? ....wearing clothes is so weird. I like being naked, you know that."  Another hesitancy, and then, almost at a whisper, Tony said, "And maybe... someday... if you didn't mind... you could wear a collar for me?  Just for the night, in the bedroom?"

"...maybe on your birthday," Steve conceded and smiled a little. "I forgot how pedantic you were about bed sheets. I almost missed it. But yeah... I think sleeping naked I can deal with. I forgot how hot I get in this goddamn house anyway.  And I want you to be happy."

Tony looked down, not able to meet the laser-like focus of Steve's bright blue eyes.  "I'm happy when you're happy, too. It's like a happiness Möbius strip. I'm just... I'm... I'm not good at being happy or having good relationships."  His mouth twitched. "Just ask Beth." He ducked his head, his fingers softly stroking Steve's skin.

"I don't know what a Möbius strip is..." Steve admitted in a murmur, fingers trailing down the muscle of Tony's forearm. He watched his Alpha staring into the distance and frowned a little. How could Tony be so close but sometimes feel so far away?

His phone beeped with a text. Steve sighed and grabbed his phone, opening it.

"Aria says I have to be at the studio for four in the afternoon tomorrow."

"I'll come with you," said Tony immediately, eager to show his support for Steve, to re-prove what a good Alpha he could be.

He got up suddenly and crossed the room.  He grabbed a book off the table and tore out a page from the back, then walked back over to the bed.  He tore a long strip of paper, twisted it, licked the ends, and stuck them together. "... _that's_ a  Möbius strip," he said, handing it to Steve.  "It's a non-orientable structure with a single boundary and a single, continuous surface.  It's the topological quotient of a torus that has zero Gaussian curvature and a Euler characteristic of zero.  I mean, you can represent it in a three-dimensional Euclidean space as having an x value of cosine u multiplied by one plus half-v cosine half-u, and a y value of sine u multiplied by one plus half-v times cosine half-u, and z value of half-v times sine half-u, but obviously, plotting it parametrically or using cylindrical coordinates is like, way simpler, you just set the log of r sine half theta to equal z cosine--"

He stopped.  Steve's eyes had glazed over.

"--I'm sorry.  Am I mathing too hard?  I was just about to get to the coolest part, though.  For an aspect ratio less than the square root of three, embedding a rectangular Möbius strip into three-dimensional space is _impossible_.  ...isn't that _cool_?"

Tony beamed at Steve, clearly assuming Steve would be impressed by this tidbit of knowledge.  Steve looked lost.

The words washed over Steve and he stopped understanding them after the word 'quotient' and zoned out. Tony was certainly vert excited about it and that was very cute but that was where it kind of stopped for Steve. He didn't get it. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Math and science had never been his thing and it never would be. "Very cool," Steve hummed, looking slightly bemused.

Tony sighed.  "Never mind. Thanks for putting up with my nerd shit, Steve.  I love you even if you _are_ a dumb blond."  (Tony considered pretty much everyone dumb, regardless of hair color.)

He reached for Tony's hand and pulled him down to peck him on the lips. Tony's intelligence would never cease to be attractive.  Overwhelming, but attractive.

"Do you think we could get a take away through the angry mob?" Steve mused. "Because I really feel like pizza. And maybe a movie?" They still had a whole list of movies Steve apparently 'had' to see. If anything, the list just kept getting bigger, rather than going down.  "Also, hey, I'm not dumb. I can speak more languages than you," Steve pointed out and poked his side playfully.

Tony smirked and grabbed Steve's hand.

"Yeah, we can order a pizza.  I'm Tony goddamn Stark. I can pay someone to brave the mob for us.  And, for the record, you probably do _not_ speak as many languages as I.  I know English, French, Japanese, SQL, C++, Python, Perl, Java, binary..."  Steve looked lost again. "... _programming languages_ , Steve." A pause, then he added, somewhat deviously, "And I've been brushing up on my Russian so that you and Dark Angel can't talk behind my back anymore.  возьми это, омега! ...but don't tell Natasha, I want to call her out on it next time she says something mean about me in Russian. I wanna see the look on her face!"

Typical Tony; while sneaking off to the lab to tinker with the Mark VII, he'd also been immersing himself in Russian language tapes.  The Mark VII was coming together, but slowly. Tony hadn't yet given up on the idea of having a self-assembling, non-gantry suit that would come to him, but the problem was that having heavy flying pieces of metal come at him at high velocities was not ideal, to say the least.  Also, getting the plate tabs to lock together properly on a moving subject without stabilization gantry surrounding them was proving to be a tricky technical challenge.

"What's a programming language?" Steve asked, cocking a brow.

" _I_ am made from a programming language, Captain Rogers," JARVIS offered helpfully. Steve didn't really understand it any better. But he also figured that he didn't really need to.

"Oh, and if you call Natasha Dark Angel in front of her again I cannot promise that you will survive the experience," Steve warned with a grin, blue eyes glinting. He could see her face already. She would be mildly impressed but try to play it down in order to not feed into Tony's ego. Clint would find it funny. She would probably insist on teaching Steve a language Tony didn't know in order to talk privately again... it could become a messy cycle very easily. Especially considering that Natasha knew ten languages, probably.

"What kinda pizza you want... Hawaiian?" asked Tony.  "And which movie? Have you seen _The Fast and the Furious_ yet?  ...no, actually, you know what? You choose. You have a big speech tomorrow.  Whatever you want. Even something... animated and _musical_."  (Tony had a near-allergic reaction to most musicals, as Steve has discovered when Pepper made them sit down to watch _Les Mis_.  Tony had spent the whole movie acting like he was being tortured and proclaimed firmly that the title referred to the audience, not the characters.)

"Something with mushrooms. I haven't had mushrooms in ages," Steve mused. He half smiled. "I don't think I wanna watch something with a lot of singing in it, to be honest. Maybe _Fast and Furious_ then?  Sounds thrilling.  And Sam goddamn loves those..."

"You got it.  Mushrooms and pineapple.  JARVIS! Order us two larges... Steve, will that be enough?  I know you eat like a freakin' bear. JARVIS, give preference to Domino's, tell them there's a nice tip in it for them if they get it to us through that mob.  And throw up _Fast and Furious_!"

"That will be plenty," Steve assured him. His appetite was huge but compared to what it was back in the '40s it was certainly more 'normal' than it had been before. He was okay with that though. He was out of the field; he didn't need to pack it all on. He was fine like this (as long as he still had his six pack he was undoubtedly fine). "Oh, can we get garlic bread too?"

"Certainly," JARVIS chimed. "Adding to order. ETA for your pizza is in an hour."

JARVIS dimmed the lights and opened the paneled wall to pull out the flatscreen.  Tony cuddled up to Steve. "...I had a nightmare that Vin Diesel also turned out to be an omega and that literally every Alpha I ever idolized was actually an omega.  That was months and months ago, when I first found out about you," said Tony after a moment. He looked over at Steve. "...hey, Steve? Before we start the movie... you said I could... take?  Do you mind? If I...?"

"That sounds like a very random nightmare." Steve hummed. It also sounded pretty funny too. He wasn't entirely sure who Vin Diesel was but Steve figured he was about to find out- and considering this movie was about cars (as far as Steve had grasped) he assumed there was a lot of masculine and Alpha-heavy undertones.

He looked up at Tony when the question was asked, the blue of his eyes just discernible in the dimmed lights. "If you what?" Steve asked softly.

"I think you need to unwind... and I know this always calms _me_ down," said Tony.  Gently, he pushed Steve onto his back and duck down to kiss his torso softly, brushing the skin with his lips.  Steve's smell and taste were familiar, though subtly difference. Not bad. Just... different. Tony didn't comment on it.  He didn't know if Steve was aware how his body chemistry had altered but figured it would kill the mood to remind Steve about what had happened in Yemen.

One of his hands slid down Steve's thigh gently as he nuzzled Steve's stomach.

 _Still my omega_ , thought Tony lovingly.

"...is this okay?" he asked tentatively, glancing up.  "...if you feel weird just shove me off. I won't mind."  He squirmed a little farther down, kissing below Steve's navel.

Steve's breath hitched at Tony's touch, especially as one hand slid down to his thigh and near one of his most intimate areas. "Tony. I--" He felt hot all over. Almost like he was embarrassed. Steve understood why Tony was doing this, why he felt like he should. But the thought of it alone was enough to make him squirm. This was all about Steve and how Steve was feeling and it was uncharacteristic of Tony to be anything other than completely selfish.

"You don't have to do this," Steve managed to get out, his voice a little thick. "Tony. Not if-- not if you don't want to."

"...but I _do_ want to," said Tony, looking up.  "I really want to, Steve. I'm happy when you're happy, remember?  And besides, I want to ensure I get that birthday collar."  He gave Steve a cheekily little grin, then leaned down. A moment later Steve felt something wet between his legs.

Steve couldn't really argue with that. If Tony wanted to buy his birthday treat through blow jobs then Steve certainly _wasn't_ going to complain.

Steve was already hard; Tony kissed his shaft, running over it with his tongue, tracing the vein on the underside up to the head, where he flicked the edge of Steve's foreskin before running over his head.  Steve's cock was wonderfully familiar to him even though it was so completely different him his. Uncut and without a knot, Tony had come to appreciate Steve's anatomy in a way he never expected to. With his hands, anyway.  This was only the second time he'd ever gone down on Steve but from the sounds coming from above, he was doing a good job.

He pulled Steve into his mouth, sucking noisily, playing his tongue over Steve's skin, one steadying hand still on Steve's smooth, pale thigh.  He reached between Steve's legs with his other hand to stroke his entrance gently; Steve's hole twitched in response, already wet. Tony could smell his mate's arousal and the smell alone was getting him off.  This was something that he'd never quite experienced with betas, the sort of maddening hands-off arousal that came from pheromones.

Steve gasped at the first wet press of lips and tongue and had to stop himself from bucking up automatically at the touch, forcing himself to let Tony explore as he pleased. The way he teased at Steve was maddening and soon he was letting out soft little whines and squirming, his entrance becoming wet. It was almost too much. Steve hadn't been touched like this for over two months (and he'd barely touched himself in that time, either; the serum definitely upped his sex drive, but while he and Tony were separated, he had simply lost interest in sexual gratification).

He spread his thighs as if to make a point and then groaned in relief when he felt the first press of fingers. "Fuck, Tony. Please," Steve said breathlessly, rocking his hips down into Tony's touch in encouragement. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted, eyes fluttering shut. Steve looked serene, and he felt it.

"Mmmm?" suggested Tony, mouth full.  He pressed his fingers against Steve's puckered entrance.  Steve whimpered and rocked into them needily. Tony didn't need any more encouragement than that; he pushed a pair of fingers into Steve, feeling the way Steve's body gripped them greedily.  Steve was just as wet and warm and inviting as Tony remembered. He bobbed his head on Steve's cock, moving his fingers languidly in and out of his body, the palm of his hand brushing over Steve's balls.  Steve's body was a tense, quivering mess; he kept feeling an unintentional arc, followed by a shuddery tensing as Steve resisted the urge to buck into his mouth and push himself down on Tony's fingers.

Tony wrapped his legs around Steve's leg, curled up against him, rubbing himself on the other.  On a vague, conscious level he was aware that he was basically dry-humping Steve's leg like some sort of tiny, spastic, inbred dog, but he was too far gone to really care about decorum at the moment, considering half of Steve's cock was in his mouth and he was several fingers deep in Steve's ass.

Steve cried out in relief as Tony's fingers pressed inside him, thick and warm just like he remembered them. Two almost wasn't enough but he couldn't even begin to try and articulate his need for more. He was a mess underneath Tony, his back arcing up as much as it could and his head tilted back. His blue eyes were glazed over in arousal, pupils blown wide. He'd missed this. Steve had missed being this close to Tony and he'd missed Tony making him feel this _good_.

"Tony! Tony.  Oh my gosh. I'm not going to-- last-- I c-cant..." Steve wasn't going to last long like this. It had been over two months since he'd felt this kind of sensation and the way Tony's fingers crooked up inside of him was driving him insane. He shuddered beneath him and let out a broken sound. "Oh, _fuck_..."

There was something about knowing he could turn Captain America into a babbling, cursing, gooey mess that made Tony feel wonderfully powerful.  In the bedroom, at least, he felt every inch the Alpha he was supposed to be. Steve melted under him like butter.

Tony bobbed his head, taking in more of Steve's length, experimenting with what made him comfortable.  Steve was huge (what part of him wasn't?) but Tony could definitely get more than half of it in his mouth before he began to gag, which he felt was pretty good.  Steve was begging beneath him, hips wriggling, and Tony paused to push a third finger into him, pushing his digits deep into his mate while he continued his oral ministrations.

His own cock was pulsing deliciously against Steve's leg and he was trying not to orgasm before Steve because the idea of doing so made him feel a little bit pathetic (he was giving a blowjob, not receiving one, after all), but admittedly, the feeling of Steve clenching wetly around his fingers was driving him crazy.

" _Mmmmph,_ he moaned against Steve's skin, wiggling his fingers.

Steve let out a desperate and relieved sound as Tony pushed a third finger into him. He could take more, he knew could, but this was enough and when the other's middle fingers brushed that special spot inside of him it made him see stars and Steve gasped under him, eyes rolling back in bliss as he could feel himself growing close. Tony's mouth was sinful on his cock and he was beginning to understand now why Tony had been so appalled before at him not knowing what a blowjob felt like. Because it was fucking _good_.

And then with another prod to his prostate, Steve came undone beneath him. He wasn't coherent enough to warn Tony but he did clench around his fingers tightly, almost tugging them in as he came into Tony's mouth, letting off a trail of expletives as he trembled beneath him. Steve panted and whined, his eyes glazed over. "Tony. Tony.  Oh my God.  Fuck.  I'm sorry I didn't--"

Tony felt Steve's body tense and clench and harden all at once; a moment later Tony's mouth was filling with Steve's seed.

He came with him; the two of them rode it out together, twitching and spasming together.

He turned his head once he felt Steve relax under him and turned his head to spit.

"...my sheets," he managed.  Considering he'd just spat out Steve's semen all over them and also creamed all over Steve's leg, he doubted there was any saving them.

He nuzzled the inside of Steve's thigh softly.  Steve's softening cock was inches from his face.

Tony reached up and stroked his stomach softly.

"...love you," he said quietly.  "...good omega."

Steve looked down at Tony dazedly, eventually figuring out that the wetness on his leg was Tony's own release. He was admittedly a little surprised by that.  But then, when he gave Tony head, he usually got off on it, too.

He hummed in agreement and leaned his head back down, his shiny gaze staring back up at the curling. "Love you too," he murmured and closed his eyes.

"But, no matter how much I love you, I'm not watching _Furious Whatever_ with your spunk all over my leg," he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Tony smiled, shifting a little so he could look up.  "I'll get you a warm towel," he said softly. He kissed the inside of Steve's thigh before getting up and stretching, looking down at the relaxed blond on his bed.

He reached out to run a hand over Steve's hair.  "...it's really good to have you back," he said softly.  "...I'm not gonna let you go again." He turned before Steve could answer and, as promised, returned a few moments later with a warm, wet towel.  Gently he wiped Steve's skin off, his face painted with a look of intense concentration.

"...there you go... I think we're gonna have to burn the sheets... it's fine, they're only worth twelve thousand... I'm kidding, Steve, we'll have them washed... roll over so I can pull 'em off, I'll get a blanket from the closet.... I'll try not to jizz all over it this time..."

Tony stripped off the ruined sheets and got a heavy quilt from his closet, draping it over Steve softly.  He felt the solid, warm sense of contentment that came from knowing he was a good Alpha who was protecting and caring for his omega; Steve's eyes followed him with a look of fawning.

It was clear to Steve that Tony had no idea where clean sheets were, nor did he know how to make a bed.  But the quilt was sweet enough.

It was weird having Tony fawn over him so diligently. It was like they were doing everything for the first time again. And Tony was determined to get it right this time. Steve leaned over to kiss him softly as they curled down for the movie, JARVIS playing it on the screen ahead as Steve tucked his head against the crook of the other's shoulder.

About an hour into the movie Steve managed to fall asleep despite all the explosions and intense car chase music. He was still more tired than usual but after everything he'd endured the past few weeks it made sense.

When Steve woke up the bed was empty and he could smell pancakes (or was it waffles?) being made downstairs. Steve smiled and curled as he let out a yawn, his back curling up like a cat's before he rolled out of bed. He hopped in the shower quickly and then grabbed a dressing gown once he was dry enough and headed downstairs.

"Tony...?"

* * *

Tony wasn't surprised when Steve fell asleep curled up next to him.  Actually, he ended up dozing a little, too, waking up only when JARVIS informed him that the pizza had arrived.

Tony had forgotten all about that.

He gently pulled away from Steve, threw on a robe, and went to get the door.  He opened it, squinting at the bright sunshine. It was brisk out. A rather excited-looking omega was standing there on the stone steps in a Domino's uniform, clutching a couple of boxes.

"...hi.  Wow. Oh, wow.  Wow. Hi," he said, clearly not expecting a rumpled-looking Tony Stark to answer his own front door.

"How bad is it?" asked Tony, nodding up the drive.

"Huh?  Oh. Um, real bad.  Well, not... not really bad, it's okay.  I mean there's like.... there's cops, like, on horses and guys with signs... can I have your autograph?  ...is Steve Rogers here?" He stood on his tiptoes and craned his head a little, peeking in.

"He's asleep," said Tony.  "...actually, I forgot we ordered a pizza.  ...you know, in retrospect, breakfast food would be more appropriate for when he wakes up... do you have any idea how to make pancakes?  You're an omega, you can cook, right?"

"I-- I mean-- what?"

"I'll pay you two thousand dollars to come in here and make pancakes."

"W-what?  B-but I'm on a delivery shift, I mean, I can't just-- just--"  The delivery driver faltered. Tony waited impatiently.

A moment later the delivery driver had called work, told them he had a flat tire, and was standing in Tony's kitchen searching for pancake mix.  Tony sat on the counter, sipping a scotch and swinging his legs, watching the kid dig through his cupboards.

"Don't you have, like, servants...?"

"Landscapers, bodyguards, maids, a PA, a pool guy, a whole staff just for all these stupid orchids... but they keep out of my way.  I like having alone time," said Tony.

"So when you're hungry, what do you do?"

"Well, normally Pepper is here, and she just gets me whatever I want.  I eat out a lot and order in... but I wanted Steve to wake up to something home-made.  It's more meaningful that way," said Tony, sipping his drink.

"...can I see the thing in your chest?"

"Don't push it, kid.  Make the pancakes."

The delivery driver was halfway through making his first stack (Tony had tried one and approved) when Steve wandered in sleepily in a robe.

Tony beamed.  "Good morning, sunshine!  Look what I made for you!"

He gestured to the teenager who was standing over the stove, staring wide-eyed and speechless at Steve.

"Tony, why is there a child in our kitchen?" Steve asked, rubbing at his left temple as he stepped up to the counter to find his coffee already made. Huh. He reached out for the mug almost cautiously, still staring at the omega at their stove.

"I'm actually eighteen, sir," he piped up. "It's incredible to actually to meet you. I thought your video was amazing."

Steve stared sideways at Tony. Then back at the 'adult' omega in front of him. He should probably go back upstairs and get dressed but the pancakes smelled really good...

"Thank you," Steve said and located the pancakes on the edge of the counter, piled high on a plate. "What's your name, son?"  To be fair, Steve was only physiologically in his late twenties.  But he felt so much older than that.  And despite his youthful looks, most people who knew him treated him like he was older, because his mannerisms were that of a much older man.  A man of his own generation.

"James, sir."

...Steve's heart ached.

"What do you do, James?"

"I'm just finishing up school, sir. I'm looking at going to an art college."

Steve smiled at that, stealing a pancake off the plate and practically eating it in one bite. "That's great, James.  That's what I did after high school, too. Good pancakes."

James beamed. "Thanks!"

Steve looked thoughtful as he went to grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the side. "How much does it cost to go to college these days?"

James slid another pancake off of the skillet and onto a plate.

"...well... uh, I wanted to go to Julliard if I could get a scholarship but it's about forty thousand dollars," said James.  "I mean, I'll probably know by the end of April and then if, uh, if I can't get a scholarship I'll probably just go to the University of California instead and try to transfer halfway through.  My mom's single and so we don't really have the-- sorry, this is probably super boring. Wow, I can't believe I'm talking to Steve Rogers! You're even taller in real life."

He offered Tony a stack of pancakes, but Tony, who was sitting on the counter, had frozen and was staring off into the distance.  The hand gripping his drink was white-knuckled. "...Mr. Stark?" James looked at Steve, confused. Tony had turned off like a robot.  "Hey, uh, Mr. Stark? ...hello...?"

* * *

_James._

He snapped awake.

He hadn't really been sleeping.  Just sitting, staring blank-eyed, thoughtless, empty.

But then... that name.  That name held meaning! It had sprung to his brain suddenly, without any warning, but the moment he thought it, he held onto it, turning it over and over.

He reached out for his notebook.

 _James_ , he wrote.

He examined the page critically.

 _James_ _James_ _James_ _James_ _James freight car_ _James James Maury_ _Василий James Steve James Department X delicious Greek yogurt James eighteen longing James James James._

...boy, he'd never get his thoughts straightened out.  He missed Vasily and his needles with their clear, calming fluid that helped him sleep.

"James?"  He looked up.  Pietro was striding over.  "You okay?" Pietro and Wanda were used to him spacing out, but the sudden jerking-awake that had been happening over the last few days was new.

"...Bucky."

"What?"

"My name isn't James.  It's Bucky."

"...I'm almost positive your name is James Barnes," said Pietro.  "You write James more than any other word in there."

Bucky looked down at the notebook in his hands.

 _James_ , it said on the page, as if agreeing with Pietro.

He frowned, and wrote beside it,

_...Bucky?_

* * *

"Tony," Steve appeared at his side, curling a hand onto his shoulder. James politely backed away. Steve ran his free hand over Tony's gently. Tony's gaze eventually moved to the omega's face but still felt like he wasn't really _seeing_ him. "Hey," he murmured. "You with me here?"

Steve couldn't feel anything himself.  Considering the recent weird feeling in the pool, he was suddenly worried that this was some sort of bond exploitation.  Was this HYDRA?  He couldn't rule out Bucky, could he?  Could an Alpha feel an Alpha _through_ an omega?  No, that was ridiculous.  Except hadn't Tony said he sometimes felt strange plucks of emotions that were most definitely neither his nor Steve's? 

Steve was starting to get worried when Tony blinked.  He pointed at James suddenly, one fist still wrapped around his glass in a death-grip.

"What's your middle name, kid?"

"What?  Oh, it's-- it's Douglas."

"Okay.  We'll call you Doug, then," said Tony firmly.  He looked up at Steve. Steve looked concerned.

James was looking worried and he was frowning, as if his pancakes were supposedly the cause of this.

"It's not your fault, kid.  It's your mom's for naming you," said Tony.

Steve elbowed him sharply. 

Poor James/Doug.  Steve knew all too well how hard it was for single moms.

"...JARVIS," Steve said slowly. "...can you pay forty grand from my account into James's?"

"Doug," Tony corrected him sharply.

"Certainly, sir," said JARVIS

James' eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head.

" _My_ ma was single. I always wanted to go to art college but I could never have afforded to; I got in for a year and that was it. Omegas would have never got scholarships back in my day," Steve smiled a little. He moved back to look at Tony, who looked marginally better.  "They didn't even let us in to most colleges.  The one I went to was... well... it wasn't really a good school.  Not like Julliard."

"Doug," repeated Tony firmly, as if he could change the poor kid's name just by reiterating the new one enough times.

"Pancakes will make you feel better." Steve pushed the plate towards him. "Eat."

  "...Steve... you can't just throw forty thou at a Domino's pizza driver."  He looked over at Doug. "Don't worry, Doug, I'm not gonna take it away, it's just that Steve has this habit of throwing money around and it makes my accountant get on my case.  Steve. You're literally doing an education charity thing tomorrow. Focus on that, not on delivery boys." He looked back to Doug. "...don't just stand there, we just gave you forty-two thousand!  Keep pancakin', Doug!" He turned back to Steve and explained, "I already promised him two thousand for the pancakes."

It occurred to Tony that neither he nor Steve had any real idea how to manage money.  Tony had always been too rich to bother, and Steve, too poor. No doubt Pepper was going to have a lot of angry questions for them tomorrow.  Hopefully, Steve's apology and fundraiser would help distract her.

"I have seventy years of backpay from the US government and they keep sendin' me Social Security checks," Steve protested, and moved to steal another pancake after he'd finished devouring his apple. Forty-two thousand barely touched the surface of Tony's fortune, which is why Steve wasn't fighting him harder. Besides, he had to be careful about his own personal finances; Aria had warned him that his little future venture that he was planning could potentially clear him out. But Steve was okay with that.

It was important to him to give kids like James a chance when he hadn't gotten one. It was as if that made it all okay... that it had been worth it, going through all that shit, to get here so James didn't have to.

"...what song are you singing tomorrow?" asked Tony, trying to re-orient himself.  His head was throbbing again, like it did sometimes. He blamed James for being named James and making him think of James, aka, _Bucky_.

"Oh, cool, you're singing for your apology?" asked James, aka Doug.

"Doug!" snapped Tony.  "I'm paying you to pancake, not ask questions!  ...but yes, Steve gonna be singing. Did you know he was in a barbershop quartet?"

"What's that?"

"Jesus Christ, how old are you?"

"I-- I told you, I'm eighteen."

"Legal.  I love it.  Now shut up and pancake.  Steve. What song?"

"We have enough pancakes Tony. Get the kid a cab home."

"Pancake!" commanded Tony.  "Steve.  _What song_?  C'mon, me and Doug won't tell, will we, Doug?"

Doug shook his head and flipped one of the pancakes, looking thoroughly flattered to be snapped at by Tony Stark and part of a conversation between him and Steve Rogers.  He was literally shaking. He looked like he might cry with gratitude. Tony seemed oblivious to it; he had picked up a single pancake with his hands and sampled it.  For a forty-two thousand dollar pricetag, it was decent.

Steve moved to sit down, grabbing the Nutella and smearing his pancakes in it. He couldn't exactly get fat so he made the most of it. "It's supposed to be a surprise," he sighed. "But fine.  I'm singing _Hallelujah_ by this guy named Leonard Cohen. Aria's already okay'd it," Steve said. "And I'm _not_ verbally apologising again; that will just cheapen it."

"Oh, no, not _that_ song!" protested Tony.  "That song's so goddamn sad, it's on my 'Drunk and Wallowing' playlist.  You might as well sing _Everybody Hurts_ by REM. JARVIS! Get Dougie a cab!"

"I drove here," Doug reminded him.

"Oh.  Right.  JARVIS! Cancel the cab!"

"That's the point Tony," Steve sighed. "It's a sad song because the whole situation _was_ pretty sad. Singing a happy song won't feel very apologetic now, will it?  Besides, people donate money when people sing sad songs.  Aria told me all about telethons.  I want to raise a bunch of money for those kids over there, to give them a fighting chance like I never had."

"Captain Rogers, I-- I can't thank you enough, me and my mom, we-- we never thought-- I mean--" stammered Doug.  He was clearly aware he was one of those kids Steve wanted to help.

"Don't make this awkward, Doug.  Scram," said Tony, pointing toward the living room and, beyond it, the front door.  

"Is that a bad choice?  I heard it and I liked it and I thought it was a good choice," said Steve, looking anxious.  "I mean, I asked JARVIS and I Googled it and it seemed okay."

Tony looked at Steve. "Whatever makes you happy, Steve."  He set down his drink, hopped off the counter, and walked over to wrapped his arms around Steve's waist.  He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Steve's back. He wondered if Steve realized that there were probably lots of people-- specifically, older, conservative Alphas-- that would be watching and looking for anything to criticize.  But, he figured that was why they had Pepper and Aria. They would tell Steve what to wear, where to stand, and veto anything too controversial.

Thankfully, Steve would be spending the very next day with Clint, so hopefully, he would be protected from the worst of the backlash.

"Er," said Doug.

Tony cracked open one eye.  " _Leave,_ Doug!  We're gonna transfer you the money and we'll be in touch, okay!"

"...okay.  Thanks. I mean-- seriously, thanks," said Doug, voice cracking. 

"Go kick ass kid," Steve told him before James/Doug headed out through the door. Whatever his name, he was one of the omegas of the future Steve was investing his trust in.  And it was people like Doug that made him feel at least a little less nervous about the press conference and performance in the morning.


	43. Press Conference

The next morning, Steve rose early, as always. He'd been given clear instructions on what to wear, and how to be groomed.  His hair was neat but not slicked back. He'd already showered, so he was set, really. Steve leaned back a seat in the living room, surrounded by orchids, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.  This was the calm before the storm.  Rationally, Steve knew he should probably be nervous but he was feeling pretty okay about everything. He would just get up on a stage, say a big thank-you to all the acts, answer a few questions, sing a song, and then get down. It wasn't like he was having to apologize a second time over; that would be harrowing and (Aria agreed) milking it too much.

Tony wandered down the stairs in a robe, his hair sticking up dramatically on one side, yawning.

"We have like two hours until we have to leave," Steve said. "What are we gonna do? I'm kind of hyper.  I can't run.  I already showered."

Tony gave Steve a wide grin.  "I can think of several things we can do," he said.  After a beat, he added, "Aria and Pepper are probably gonna burst in and start grooming us like poodles in an hour, though, if we're supposed to leave in two.  They're both kind of control freaks. Although to be fair I'm not really great at tying ties without Pep, so I guess it's justified."

He reached up to pull back the shoulders of Steve's shirt to kiss his back.  His skin was smooth and flawless, as much because of the serum as because of his being an omega.

"So we have an hour," Steve reiterated and sighed quietly when Tony pulled his robe down, letting it pool around his right shoulder. The soft drag of Tony's lips was accompanied by the slight scrape of stubble too. Steve hummed softly in approval and let his eyes slip shut.

"...I missed you so much..." said Tony, and suddenly he realized he was feeling a hell of a lot more emotional than he'd previously expected.  That moment in Yemen when, briefly, he hadn't been able to feel Steve... when he'd thought he'd lost him...

Tony pressed his face into Steve's back, breathing him in.

After a moment, he mumbled, "...you smell different.  Since..." He trailed off.

"I... do?" Steve didn't sound surprised, just a little sad. He didn't know Tony would be able to smell it on him. So now, even if he couldn't _see_ Steve's neck he would always _know;_ neither of them would ever be allowed to forget. Steve sighed, louder this time. "I'm sorry Tony. And don't say it's not my fault. I don't mean it is. I'm just...sorry. That's all," he murmured and his gaze dropped down to the floor.  "Does it-- does it bother you?"

Tony considered Steve's question for a moment before answering.  "Yes and no. It... it's still you. It's subtle. It's still Steve, though.  You're still my omega. I'll get used to it. It's not a bad smell, just... different, is all.  But still you, and that's the most important thing. That you're alive and in one piece and you're back."  He kissed Steve's skin again, then glanced at the back of his neck.

There it was, the double mark.  Better, at least, than a single mark that wasn't Tony's.

"I don't love you any less," said Tony softly.  "The only reason it bothers me is because it's a reminder that I pushed you away and put you in danger.  That I was a bad Alpha and that I failed to protect you. But it's over and from here on out things are going to be good."

"It wasn't you that put me in danger Tony. I put myself in danger," Steve pointed out calmly, his voice quiet but steady.

Tony hesitated, then reached up and gently brushed the back of Steve's neck.  "Is this okay? If I touch it?" he said softly.

Steve flinched a little when Tony first touched his neck. He hadn't expected it but he slowly managed to calm himself. He swallowed thickly, his head ducking down as he focused on keeping his breath even. Steve closed his eyes and swallowed again.

"Yeah. You can touch it. It's okay. I just-- it's just sensitive," Steve whispered. And he wasn't talking about the pain.

"...I don't want to make you uncomfortable," murmured Tony.  He traced his own mark gingerly. "Mine's still here. You and me, we're still bonded."  He let his hand drop; Steve's body was tense and his head was down and everything about his posture screamed that he felt uncomfortable.  Clearly, Steve needed more time.

Tony wondered when-- if-- he'd be able to bite down on the back of Steve's neck again while they were mating.  And if it would feel different in his mouth, if it would taste different.

This was the sort of thing that Tony wish had been explained to him.  He didn't know any other Alphas who could--

Wait a second.  Gleason's stupid little scout group.

Tony frowned.  Maybe he'd just call the number on the pamphlet and ask a few questions without attending.  That couldn't hurt. Besides, he had all day Saturday, since Steve was going to be hanging out with Clint, doing whatever omegas did together.

"I know we're still bonded," Steve said quietly. "It's not about that. I can't explain it exactly. I don't understand really. It's just, thinking about what's there doesn't make me feel good. It makes me feel unattractive and like a failure. I know you don't want to ignore it, Tony, and I really appreciate that. I've just... I gotta do stuff in my own time. I'm sorry."

He felt so bad. Tony was making such an effort to prove to Steve that he wasn't put off by his neck and Steve wasn't even appearing grateful. He sighed and stared over the table and the mess of orchids.

"I will get over this. I promise," Steve said, sounding more resolute than before.

"Take as much time as you need," said Tony quickly.

"Steve?" called a familiar voice, followed by a slam from the front door.

Tony checked his watch.  Aria and Pepper were walking in, both of them hauling dry-cleaning.

Tony pulled away from Steve, an enthusiastic grin spreading onto his face.  "...I have a surprise for you," said Tony. He looked over at Pepper. "Didja get it?"

"Yes, yes, I got it," said Pepper.  "Have you two eaten breakfast yet?"  She glanced into the kitchen, did a double-take, and then her eyes widened at the mess in the kitchen.  "...did you... did you make pancakes?"

"...sort of," said Tony.  "Also I need you to find a way to deduct forty-two thousand from my taxes but we can talk 'bout that later."

Pepper let out a noise of protest; Aria was already trying to shoo Steve toward the stairs to get him dressed.  The fact that he was already dressed didn't matter; she was going to go over inch of him to make sure he was presentable.

"Hey," Aria waved to Tony with a smile. "Hey. Those pancakes smell good!  Did you actually make them?"

"A pizza delivery boy made them," Steve filled in and Aria rolled her eyes.

"...of course he did," she said, her friendly tone evaporating.

"A surprise for who?" asked Steve.

"Surprises are for later! Now we need to work out if we're going tie or no tie..." Aria said, successfully getting him to head up the stairs.

"Tie!" yelled Pepper after them.  "Tie and _jacket_!  No shirtsleeves!  Make him put on a jacket!"

She looked over at Tony as Steve and Aria disappeared up the stairs.

"Oh, boy, wait 'til she sees what we did to the sheets," said Tony with amusement.

Pepper rolled her eyes.  "...how are things?" she asked, gently.

"Good," said Tony.  "...pretty good. Mostly good.  Steve's... weird about his neck.  And he smells different. But we're okay."  He paused. "Gleason gave me a brochure for this, um, Alpha support group."

"I think that's a great idea," said Pepper immediately.  Pepper had been trying to get Tony in any sort of support group or therapy for years.  He refused to talk to anyone about Afghanistan and at times had point-blank denied having night terrors or panic attacks even though Pepper had witnessed plenty of them with her own eyes.

Part of the reason she was involving herself so heavily with Steve's return was that she didn't entirely trust Aria to remain unbiased.  Aria was younger and more political and had been raised by a pair of omegas; Pepper was running damage control. Even Steve's outfit was a calculated move.  Omegas often wore waistcoats only; Pepper wanted him in a jacket for maximum respectability, and felt that a waistcoat only would seem too submissive and obsequious.

With juggling Steve's charity and political image, she hadn't had as much time as she would have liked to check in on Tony's mental health.  Hearing that he was actually considering talking to someone about recent events was like music to her ears.

She shoved a suit into Tony's arms.  "Get dressed. You can have _one_ drink before we leave."

"Beth seemed like she had her panties in a bunch about the drinking," said Tony.

"Be nice to Beth.  She's a good person to have on security detail and considering all the shit you put her through, she's really going above and beyond for you and Steve.  ...and try not to drink another six shots in front of her. She's not comfortable with your drinking, especially after how you were in the nineties."

"I don't recall being especially bad in the nineties."

"Because you were a drunken, coked-up mess."

"Hey, the break-up was mutual, Pepper.  It takes two to tango. It's not like it was _entirely_ my fault that it didn't work out."

" _You drove a Lamborghini into the Bellagio fountain_."

Upstairs, Aria was tearing through Tony's closet like it was a clearance rack.  Steve owned few ties; it didn't matter.  Aria was helping herself to Tony's.

"Blue is your color because it goes with your eyes, not _just_ the American flag," Aria said, rolling her eyes as he neatened out Steve's tie for him. She had him in a midnight blue suit and a crisp white shirt underneath with a black tie that was a little on the thin side. He looked well put together; his hair had been re-combed.  It looked no different to Steve but Aria insisted it was "better."

"Alright, alright... that's swell.  Thanks, Aria."

"How is it?" Aria glanced over the bed, pulling a face. "Looks like everything is back in working order."

Steve turned bright red. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Good. You need stress relief," Aria said, grinning. "You nervous?"

"I don't think so. I think I'm okay." Steve assured her. Getting nervous wouldn't exactly do him any favours. "I mean, this is for charity right? This isn't about me."

"Oh my God. Turn it _off,_ Steve. You're _allowed_ to be nervous," Aria told him, fixing his hair. She was wearing dark red eyeliner today that made her hazel eyes pop.

She stood back to inspect him with her hands on her hips. "Perfect," Aria beamed, and took his arm. Then her face got more serious. "Hey, it's... it's good to have you home, Steve."

He met her eyes and reached over to squeeze her hands briefly. "It's good to be back," Steve hummed. They headed back downstairs.

Pepper was delicately patting Tony's face with God-knows-what while Tony sipped at a new glass of alcohol.  His face broke into a smile when he saw Steve. "Steve. Look," he said excitedly. He pointed to the lapel of his suit.  There was a small silver horseshoe pin. "...I know _you're_ not allowed to talk about omega rights but I figured since _I'm_ just there to look pretty, I could make a statement myself.  Are you surprised?"

"I think it's understated but it's going to make a nice splash on in the media cycle," said Pepper, a hint of mischief in her eyes.  "...Tony being an Alpha, it carries a nice little punch."

"Do you like it?" pressed Tony, clearly desperate for Steve's approval.

"Tony, stop moving, I'm trying to hide these bags under your eyes," admonished Pepper.  She glanced up at Steve. "You look wonderful, Steve. Good job, Aria."

"...it's not exactly hard to make Steve look good," Tony pointed out.

"Okay, word of warning, Steve.  They're definitely going to be trying to get pictures of your neck.  Don't try to hide it but also, don't be surprised if you see it all over the front page tomorrow.  There's a ten-minute press conference and we've tried to exclude any questions that are too inappropriate, but it's possible that one will slip through the cracks.  Ultimately, the World Security Council screened a lot of the press but there might be one or two plants in there trying to discredit you or make you look bad. Just be yourself and don't let them trip you up.  Remember, you're representing your status and so you need to be calm and level-headed and sympathetic."

"And I'll be right there behind you," said Tony.

Pepper shot him a look of warning.

"...being silently supportive and not stealing the spotlight or saying anything and letting Steve do his thing," amended Tony.

"That's right," said Pepper.

Steve was totally taken by surprise at Tony wearing the pin. He'd never even thought about the fact that, whilst he wasn't allowed to make this about status, Tony could. His chest warmed and he walked over to kiss him on the cheek only to have Pepper reach out and smear the foundation off his mouth with the same sort of sigh his mother used to give him when he came back home covered in mud. "I love it, really," Steve told him and turned around to find Aria pushing a glass of juice into his hand.

"You need to stay hydrated. You'll be doing a lot of talking and you don't want to fuck up your voice for later," Aria told him.

Steve took the glass. "Yes ma'am." She hit his arm.

"Seriously though, I don't think anything can be worse than Gideon. I can deal with it," Steve said, leaning against the wall as he took a sip of his drink. Aria immediately grabbed him and made him stand up straight, muttering something about him crinkling his suit.

"Not hard, my ass," she mumbled under her breath.

Then, louder, so that Steve could hear him (though he heard most of her mumbling thanks to the serum), "Your song is going last," Aria said. "So you do a big thank-you to everyone else who's performed and then you do your thing and we end for the night. It'll be very dramatic and very touching and it looks like we're set to raise a hell of a lot for your charity. Oh, and all the artists who volunteered are throwing a party afterwards... essentially for you Steve. In support of you. So you should probably go to that."

Steve blinked. "A party?"

" _Function_ ," corrected Pepper.  "Don't say _party_.  I don't want people thinking you're cavalier or that you're celebrating getting off.  Don't make a joke about getting off, Tony."

Tony closed his mouth, clearly disappointed that Pepper had anticipated his quip.

"Okay.  Are we all ready?  It'll be better to get there early just in case we hit any technical bumps."

"Question.  Am I allowed to drink at the--"

"Tony.  Please. Act like you can go without alcohol for twelve hours," said Pepper.

Tony had gotten good at recognizing when Pepper had hit a limit, so he shut up and let her shoo him and Steve toward the front door.  He brushed Steve's hand with his, offering to hold it without presuming. He could tell that Steve needed space and considered it good progress that Steve had agreed they could sleep naked, had let Tony touch him, and was even considering the collar thing, which Tony still felt guilty about.

Pepper shot Aria a small smile.  She was finding Tony's efforts to be unexpectedly endearing.  It was more than she could have hoped for, really, especially considering it was early March.

Steve interlinked their fingers together loosely at the silent offer as they went to get into the car. He was feeling more nervous now at the thought of the press conference and the 'function'. He wasn't sure if he was really in the mood for a not-party right now... but it would be rude to turn all those people down.

Aria returned Pepper's smile, looking excited as she moved to get into the backseat next to Steve. "Oh, just so you know. Most of the acts are betas, one is a band with an Alpha lead and then we have two omegas. So, it's a good mix."

Steve nodded. Least they couldn't accuse him of omega favoritism, or whatever.

Passing through the crowd outside the house wasn't pleasant. Steve got to see Bethany punch a good few more signs in though and that certainly cheered him up. He tried to ignore the shouting and jeering, the general rumble of hate that came off of the crowd; they weren't worth it. Steve squeezed Tony's hand a little tighter.

The drive to the studio felt too quick and before Steve knew it him and Tony were being plonked down into make-up chairs and their hair was being fixed. Aria leaned against the table top beside Steve, tapping away on her phone. "When is the conference?"

"In like forty minutes. Why, you ready for it?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

In comparison to Steve, Tony seemed entirely at home backstage amid the bright lights and too many mirrors and swirling activity.  Pepper leaned her elbows onto the armrest while Tony tilted his head back, eyes closed, letting someone fuss with his hair.

He only cracked an eye open when he smelled an omega passing by.  She was in post-heat and her scent was absolutely cloying. "Hey, can I get a drink?" asked Tony, snagging her.

She gave him a withering look.  "Do you know who I am?"

"... _I'm_ Tony Stark," offered Tony.

" _Tony!_ " hissed Pepper, stepping between the two of them.  She turned to the omega. "I'm _so_ sorry, he's a ball of nerves right now..."

The women rolled her eyes and sauntered off; Pepper looked down at Tony.  "...that was Arcadia Rivas. She and Chloe Madison are the hosts of _Consensus_."

Tony looked at Pepper blankly.

"It's a political comedy show and they're two of the performers who are here for Steve!" hissed Pepper.

"Ohhhh," said Tony.  "I thought she was a stagehand.  ...can you find me a stagehand and get me a drink?"

Beth, who was hovering nearby, gave a loud scoff of disapproval.  Pepper's phone chimed; she looked down at him and groaned. "Arcadia just tweeted about you, Tony.  It's not flattering. _Just had hashtag Tony Stark aka hashtag Iron Man try to give me a drink order.  Hashtag Captain America is a saint for putting up with him. Hashtag stereotypes.  Hashtag omega rights. Hashtag equality."_

"That's not so--" began Tony.

Pepper's phone went off.  "Oh and now Chloe's in on it.  _Time for another round of, does he think I'm a cocktail waitress because I'm a an omega or because I'm a woman?  Hashtag stereotypes, hashtag Tony Stark, hashtag--"_

"Oh, so now I'm a sexist _and_ a statusist.  Cool," said Tony, slumping into his chair.

"Excellent timing.  Right before Steve's speech," said Pepper, voice dripping with venom.  "You couldn't just _go without a drink_ for forty minutes, could you?"  Her phone pinged. " _I'm in post-heat, maybe that's what's making hashtag Tony Stark so hashtag thirsty._ Thirsty is in all caps. _Hashtag pathetic, hashtag--"_

"Okay, okay, okay, I fucked up, I--"  Tony paused. Another cloying smell had hit him, but this one wasn't pleasant.  Not at all. It made the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably.

He turned.  "Hey, Ty!"

"Hey guys," said Tiberius, striding over.  He set a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. "How are you feeling, Captain?  Just wanted you to know that we've got a really solid screening process and so the crowd out there is all media... shouldn't be too hostile.  No sign-holders or anything." He patted Steve. "You're going to do great."

"Oh my God." Aria groaned as she scrolled down her own news feed. "Dude." She sent Tony a look. "Not cool." _Not cool_ in Aria's books was a heavy blow. She looked thoroughly irritated. "Just remember Stevie, if anyone tries to bring this up, just point out that you're not responsible for your mate's actions and that you shouldn't be judged by him.  You know the drill."

Steve took the phone she offered and scrolled through the tweets, eyes widening. It was still scary to him how quickly news could be born in the 21st century. It happened two minutes ago and now thousands of people were seeing it. He knew what Tony had said was not _great_ but Steve also knew that what set Tony apart from a lot of other Alphas was that he _did_ feel bad about it (Steve could literally _feel_ it himself), and a lot of Alphas wouldn't. Steve wasn't the only one who was struggling to get used to equality.

Tiberius's hand was warm on his arm and Steve smiled a little. "A little nervous, but I'll be fine once I get out there." Once the adrenaline rush hit him Steve was usually good at thinking on his feet, at least. "So, am I just answering questions or...?"

"Don't you have anything else you want to say?" Aria asked.

"Well, I wasn't _allowed_ to make this about status and all I can really do is keeping saying sorry. This entire debacle was about status and relationships so I don't really have anything to say that isn't about... that."

"Well, it was also about you illegally crossing national borders and getting a half-dozen SHIELD agents to invade a sovereign country without authorization, but tomatoes, tomahtoes, right?" said Tony brightly.

"We tried our best to weed out any hostile questions," said Tiberius.  "If I were you, I'd give a few statements about America being stronger for its diversity and reminding everyone that you're only human.  You made a mistake.  That has nothing to do with status. It's something that people need to hear, though."

"Come on, let's get you out there," said Aria.  Her and Pepper's phones were both going wild, and Tony looked thoroughly depressed about it.  It wasn't that he was personally embarrassed (okay, maybe a little), but that he didn't want to make things any harder on Steve.  His role was going to be standing behind Steve, looking supportive, letting everyone know that he was still with his omega. Tony wasn't used to standing still or being quiet, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed.  He was going to stir up plenty of headlines just by standing behind Steve and wearing a horseshoe pin.

"When in doubt, talk about equal opportunities and education for the next generation," advised Tiberius.  "And remember, everyone getting up on that stage is on your side, okay?"

Tony found Steve's hand and gave it a squeeze.  His mate felt uncharacteristically worried. Not nervous, just... out of place.  Poor Steve, thought Tony. It was unfair to make him give these huge press conferences so soon after being force-bonded.  He needed his privacy.

For the first time, Tony was glad Steve was going to be spending Saturday with Clint in some middle-of-nowhere safehouse, just to get away from the media for a while.

"Right. Stronger for its diversity. Got it," Steve breathed and moved to get back up, his hair only a little neater than it had been before. Aria moved to straighten out of his jacket collar and then they were walking. The back of Steve's neck wasn't even red anymore and the scarring had all turned the shiny pink- white color it should be.

Steve squeezed Tony's hand back, the touch oddly grounding. He swallowed as they were lead down a corridor, Pepper walking out in front. They turned into a dark room, the edge of an elevated stage peeking out at the end of it with curtains hiding the rest of the platform. It all looked rather intimidating. A beta guy came around and offer them juice boxes; Steve politely declined. He let out a long, slow breath and ran a hand over his face.

Aria was watching him intently. "You ready?" she asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Ready when you are."

A couple of stagehands pushed Steve behind a podium, positioned Tony behind him, stood back, then told them each to take a few steps to the left, to the right, one back, no, stop there, forward again, one more to the left, _perfect_.

A camera operator gave Steve a wave, pointed to the camera ("Look right here"), then held up a hand.  "Okay, we're going live in thirty."

"Captain!"

Tony winced, hard, when he saw a couple of familiar figures striding toward them.  A beta woman, a beta man, and an Alpha. Councilwoman Hawley, Councilman Yin, and Councilman Malick.

"Remember.  Not one toe out of line," said Malick.

"We've got most of this situation under control," said Councilwoman Hawley, "But we're relying on this next hour to go smoothly.  Excuse me, Mr. Stark, you can't wear that pin."

"Why not?  It's Steve's apology, not mine," said Tony, not moving to take it off.

"We want a non-partisan, non-status press release.  I thought we were very clear about that during our meeting?" said Malick.

"But this is my lucky horseshoe pin," said Tony.  "It's got nothing to do with omegas."

"...Mr. Stark, do you think we're fools?" asked Councilman Yin.

Tony looked like he desperately wanted to say yes, but Pepper and Aria were already swooping in to save them.

"Steve is no longer employed by SHIELD and is giving this press release as a show of goodwill and gratitude to you for helping him downplay the Yemen incident.  But Steve doesn't owe you anything as a civilian," said Pepper sharply. "And neither does Tony. This is a favor they're doing as a thanks for your pardon. I doubt the camera's resolution is even strong enough to make out a half-inch pin."

The way Aria glared at Gideon made the Alpha visibly flinch away from her. She said nothing as she pulled away off the stage with Pepper, the two women linking arms.

"You were very clear about status in your meeting," Steve assured Gideon coolly, blue eyes flashing with something fiery. For some reason, seeing Malick made him feel better about this whole thing.

"I love you ," Steve whispered to Tony, eyes moving from the pin to Tony's face, and something warmed in his chest. He exhaled. He could do this. He had fought Nazis in the war. This was a piece of cake.

"Live in five," called the cameraman.

Tony smirked a little as stagehands began shooing the WSC people offstage.

"Not one toe out of line, Captain!" called Malick.

"Knock 'em dead, Steve.  I love you," said Tony quietly, looking smug.  He reached up and touched the pin consciously, clearly proud of himself for doing at least one thing right today.

"Okay, we're live in ten... nine..."

Steve was on a stage in front of a room of people, mostly reporters, but he couldn't see them well because the stagelights were blinding.  Tony was two paces behind him, standing there with his hands clasped in front of him, looking a bit like a Secret Service agent in his sunglasses.

"Four... three..."  The cameraman mouthed the last two numbers, two and one, then pointed to Steve and mouthed that he was live.

 _Live_. That was a scary, modern-day word. But then Steve had technically performed on stage countless times with the USO... and that was all live. He couldn't see the crowd properly but he could see a lot of people and the bright green light of the camera above. He wondered how close the thing was to his face, how much of his expressions they would be able to see.

So Steve made sure not to give anything away. He looked as calm and as composed as ever, like he hadn't been nervous as hell just a few minutes ago. He was stood with his back soldier-straight like he had nothing to be ashamed about. _And I don't_ , Steve reminded him pointedly.

"I would like to start by thanking all the performers that volunteered for tonight's charity event. I know everyone has come here tonight on late notice, as have you, and I appreciate all the efforts that every person involved has put into this. Including every person we have backstage too, who again are doing this on a completely voluntary basis. And I think tonight will be a wonderful example of how much we can achieve when people come together, regardless of prejudices or divisions, in order to do something for a cause that is bigger than ourselves. And bigger than any of us here in this room. Equality in education and equal opportunities are every child's right and I can only hope that our support tonight for Yemen's educational foundation will help put more kids on the right track.

"One right does not mark out a wrong. But it's a start. And it's a gesture. I am not saying that tonight will compensate for my actions, or anyone else's. But I am hoping that tonight makes it evident how seriously I am taking the consequences. Thank you."

There was a smattering of applause, following by a series of frantic reporters holding up pens, hands, and microphones, trying to get Steve's attention to ask questions.  And despite the WSC's insistence that the conference not mention omega rights, and despite reassurances that the media had been screened and vetted and prepped, Steve was definitely hearing the words "omega rights movement" and "forced bonding" getting thrown out a lot.  Because that, naturally, was what people wanted to know about.

* * *

Bucky clutched the remote to him, gazing adoringly at the television.

"Omega," he said with delight when Steve stopped speaking.

Beside him, Wanda sat, teeth clenched, her gaze fixed on Stark.

Pietro was pacing; he kept flitting back and forth in front of the television, a disorienting flash, a blink.

"Pietro.  Stop pacing."

"I can't help it.  I'm jittery. I think I had too much coffee."

"Sit down.  You're distracting us.  Look, he's taking questions."

Pietro sat beside his sister.  Her gaze broke from the television and fell on him.  There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

"...Pietro," she said, softly, a hint of panic in her voice.  "...I need to see you in the bathroom. _Now_."

Pietro groaned.  "But you just told me to sit!  ...okay, okay..."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.  "...you're going into heat."

"What?"  Pietro's eyes widened.  "No. Impossible. I'm not due until April."

"You're burning up, Pietro.  You've been in close quarters with a dominant Alpha for weeks now.  It's happening."

Pietro glanced into the mirror above the sink.  There was no denying he looked a little flushed.  He looked back to Wanda. "...what do we do?"

"We have to send him away."

"He hasn't noticed yet..."

"He will.  In one or two days, you'll be a mess and you know he's not in control of himself.  It's time to send him away now, Pietro."

Pietro dragged a shaking hand over his face.  "...where will he go?"

"I don't care," said Wanda.  "...anywhere but here. For your own safety, Pietro.  We have to get rid of him.  Now."

* * *

"One at a time!" a stage hand called out. Steve looked calm, far better than he had before the speech. The swarm of reporters was a little overwhelming but he could handle it. He reached behind him for Tony's hand without thinking about it, the podium blocking the gesture from the cameras.

" _New York Standard_! Do you think you serve as a good role model for other omegas who were force bonded?!" a woman said, her voice so loud she was almost shouting. Steve blinked.

"No. I mean-- I think every omega who has been through that ordeal is a role model. And a lot of omegas have written very good blogs on dealing with the process, or even whole books. I think there's better people to turn to who can offer more support specifically on this matter. I, personally, will not be talking about it more than I have to," Steve explained simply.  "I'm not qualified."

That clearly wasn't the answer the woman was after but Steve seriously didn't want people turning to him. It's not like he was assaulted, per se, which most people in his situation would have been. Honestly that made his whole status as 'force bonded' feel almost invalid, in some ways.

And he couldn't explain to to the crowd, but it hadn't been a random attack from a feral Alpha.  It had been _Bucky_.  His Alpha.  He felt conflicted on whether or not it even counted.  He didn't feel traumatized, exactly.  Mostly just sad.  But that was not the story he was allowed to tell.  Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Bucky was relieved when Pietro and Wanda finally came out of the bathroom.  He was having difficulty following the press conference on television.

"They're asking him about being force-bonded," said Bucky, gesturing  "But I already fixed it! Why is Stark there?"

Pietro and Wanda exchanged a look.

"They're not talking about Stark," said Wanda.

Bucky's eyes widened in horror.  " _There's a third Alpha?_ "

Wanda waved a hand and the television turned off.  Bucky hit the power button on the remote; Pietro took the remote away, and Wanda turned the television off again.

"No.  There's no third Alpha.  They're talking about _you_ , James.   _You_ force-bonded him."

Bucky stared at Wanda, uncomprehending.  "...no I didn't."

"You did."

"No, I didn't!"

"James, it's time for you to leave," said Pietro quietly.

"I didn't hurt my omega," said Bucky, rising, glaring at them.  "I _love_ Steve.  He's _my_ omega.  Stark stole him and ruined my mark.  But I fixed it. I didn't force him!"

"Get out, James," said Wanda.

Bucky reached for his notebook and then strode toward the door.  He pulled it open, stepped outside, and slammed it behind him.

The moment he was out, he was lost again.  Now what?  He'd obeyed the order of getting out.  But now, he had nowhere to go, and no one was telling him what to do.

He cast a look around, feeling hopeless.  He pined for Steve and for Karpov, and now the twins had abandoned him, too.  He was alone in the world and all he had was the clothes on his back and the notebook under his arm.

He flipped open the notebook, hoping perhaps, somehow, it might give him some instructions.

_I can see the whites of his eyes as he backs up against the wall.  His hands are up. He begs me to let him live. He is curling into the corner and he begins crying when I grab his hair to pull back his head.  The sounds he makes become wet and garbled as the knife goes into his throat and he coughs bubbles of blood. His body jack-knifes. He's looking at me but no longer sees me.  He cannot speak now. Objective complete. His eyes were blue._

Bucky closed the notebook, heart pounding.

Yes, he remembered that.  That man had worked for the Treasury.  He had been an omega with blue eyes. Killing him had made Bucky feel... something.  He had given his mission report with a crack in his voice that had earned him a re-training session in the chair.  Afterwards, he had remembered the numbness in the tips of his fingers, the smell of burning hair, the penlight being shined into his eyes.

He stumbled away, putting the motel behind him, directionless, as if he could outrun his own fractured memories.  The thin spiral notebook under his arm felt heavier than he remembered.

* * *

Steve felt it. He felt something. There was a punch to his gut, something akin to rejection and confusion and sadness, and he knew it wasn't Tony's.  (Tony's primary emotion was one of smugness, followed by boredom.)

The questions kept coming, and he remained as calm as he could, but under the table his hand was gripping Tony's tightly and the other had curled into a fist at his side. He let out a shaky breath as he finished a question about his future plans with charity, to which he'd essentially said _'I'm not rushing into anything, but keep your eyes peeled.'_

None of the questions were anything compared to dealing with the bigotry of Gideon. Most of the questions were respectful, polite... there was one about Steve and Tony's relationship and where it stood now. It came from the _Bugle_ , or something like that.

"I think it's very clear where me and Tony are standing and that's with each other," Steve said simply. "Next question?"

"Isn't Mr. Stark bothered by your neck? _Evening Tribune_. Don't you think it will affect your relationship? You can hardly carry on as before..."

"Questions for Steve Rogers only!" a stagehand called out, the same one from before.

Steve's grip tightened on Tony's hand and he winced a little.  Tony glanced over. Steve's jaw was fixed in a firm line. Something was wrong but Tony wasn't sure what.

He wanted to yell that, no, he wasn't bothered by Steve's neck, but he wasn't technically allowed to speak.

Instead, he let go of Steve's hand under the table, took off his sunglasses, reached over, and laid his hand over the back of Steve's neck, looking at Steve with an expression that he hoped communicated that the mark on Steve's neck was nothing compared to almost losing him forever.

The room erupted with flashes as everyone tried to get a picture of the moment.

Tony ran his hand through Steve's hair before he found Steve's hand again under the table.

"Rhonda Marlin, _USA Today_!  What about your _first_ Alpha, Captain?  He's still alive, isn't he?  What's the nature of your current relationship with him, given his age and Stark's previous reaction to discovering you two were still bonded?"

The stagehand held up a board that said, _2 MORE QUESTIONS, THEN BREAK._ Tony felt relief flood through him.  They had been promised a non-hostile crowd and although the reporters certainly didn't seem hostile, per se, they were pretty unabashedly prying.  Of course, considering Tony and Steve were public figures, he shouldn't have been surprised.

Steve's breath sucked in softly and he had to stop himself from looking away at all the flashing lights and flaring bulbs. It was a strange moment and it was hard to breathe until Tony's hand found his again under the table. He swallowed. His neck was tingling, almost like it was on fire...but not in a bad way.  And Tony had almost definitely ruined the hair the woman inside had spent ten minutes fixing. But Tony touching him like-- it felt good. It always did, didn't it?

"The nature of our relationship?" Steve echoed and raised a brow. "My-- my first Alpha gave me a miscarriage."

There was so much more he wanted to say.  That his "first" and "third" Alpha were the same person.  That his first Alpha had _force bonded_ him. _And he's been tortured beyond relief; he's not a person anymore and he needs help, but what if he's beyond it..._

And he was with HYDRA, and they could control him... so how could Steve possibly help him, now he was out of SHIELD, not allowed to perform any field work?

"Next question."

"Linda Trinity; _The Bond_! Do you think you can still be the same kind of role model for the omega community now you're in a trio with three Alphas?"

"I'm not in a triad. Next question."

"Or a quartet, whatever."

" _Next question_."

"Rachel Sunders, _Boston Globe_ \-- what would you call it, a foursome, then?  You _are_ bonded to two other Alphas besides Tony Stark, correct?  Can you both feel them or only one?"

"Gary Newport, _The Star_ \-- Captain Rogers, did you say you were pregnant?  You had a miscarriage? Was that this century or last?  Was it your first Alpha's?  Was it Tony's? How far along were you?"  The room was quickly falling into disorder. The cameraman gave Steve a "wrap it up" signal.  Offstage, Aria was texting with her phone in one hand and Pepper's in the other, while Pepper was having a breathless phone call with the Associated Press, trying to clarify some of Steve's statements.

Tiberius was watching the two of them with admiration.  He should have known there was no such thing as a non-hostile room of reporters.  They were practically frothing at the mouth. Beneath the table, Tony maintained his grip on Steve's hand, trying not to let all the comments about _other Alphas_ get to him.  Yet he didn't miss the universally accepted notion that he was clearly not the primary Alpha.  People knew his dominance status was low, and their questions clearly indicated that. It made Tony feel like a piece of shit and, God, if he'd ever wanted a drink, it was now.  He was planning on getting well and properly hammered as soon as the cameras were off.

 _At least Dad's not alive to see this.  His precious Captain America triple-bonded and his son a giant cuckold who isn't even allowed to talk,_ he thought bitterly.   _...double-bonded,_ he mentally corrected himself, remembering that Bucky-from-the-forties and Winter-Soldier-from-Yemen were the same person.  But the public didn't know that. In their minds there was Steve's-old-mate-from-the-forties-who-was-like-ninety-years-old-now, and the-guy-in-Yemen-who-force-bonded-him.

"That really is none of your business." Steve breathed, "what I can or can't feel. But I would not call it a quartet or a triad.  I would call it a _relationship_. It's a relationship with _Tony_. I'm living with him, no one else. I wasn't with my first Alpha, physically, before--" he hated saying this. He goddamn hated it. "--and I certainly won't be including the Alpha who force bonded me in my life."

Steve managed not to sound angry. If anything his tone was oddly empty.

"And yes, the baby was Tony's. And I was three weeks along. I didn't know until it happened."

Why was he having to talk about this? What the fuck was wrong with the world?

"That's it! That's the end of questions!" a woman called, the lights dimming on the stage. Before Steve knew what was happening Tony was pulling on his hand and guiding him up and off the stage. They walked down the steps and Steve's legs felt like jelly.

"Steve! You did great!" Aria pulled him into a hug, a phone in each hand.

Steve blinked. "I... I did?"

Tony pulled Steve into a hug offstage, rubbing his back.  "Yeah, you did so good, Steve..." He wanted to lie on top of Steve but knew this wasn't the time or place; Aria was hugging him, too, and Tiberius was patting his shoulder.

"You were completely in control; you came off as perfectly reasonable and sympathetic--"

"People loved it," said Pepper, who was watching live updates on Tony's phone.  "You were sincere, you were brave, that was excellent."

Tony nuzzled the side of Steve's neck; Pepper peeled him off.

"I need a drink," said Tony.

Pepper sighed a little.  "...you earned one. Good job not speaking up there, and touching his neck like that?  Front page."

"People noticed the pin.  It's already trending on FaceBook," reported Aria.

"Oh, God, if we can just let Tony and Chloe and Arcadia to have a chat and kill Tony's faux pas from earlier, I would be in heaven," said Pepper.  "Steve. Drink some water, we need your voice in perfect working order. Tony. Come over here, get out of the way--"

Tony obediently moved over.

"--okay, perfect, let's get the acts up and get moving!"

Everyone seemed in a good mood.  Aria and Tiberius seemed a lot more concerned with Steve's well-being;  Pepper just seemed thrilled Tony hadn't put his foot in his mouth. She handed him back his phone and a double scotch, neat, and Tony sank into the background to enjoy it.

He took the liberty of looking up Gleason's little support group while he had a moment alone.  It wasn't hard to find on the web. There was a phone number.

He polished off his drink and grabbed a stagehand (he made sure it was a beta and actually a stagehand this time) to get him another before dialing.

"Hello, Nadine Garland speaking."

"Hi Nadine.  Do you, uh, do you run the Los Angeles POSSV group?"

"That's me."

"Cool.  Great. My name's Tony--"  Shit. Tony immediately wished he'd given a fake name.  Considering they'd literally just aired live, she probably now knew exactly who he was.  "--and, uh, my mate was, uh... y'know. And his doctor gave me your number. Well, actually, he gave me a brochure and then I looked up your number on my phone, but that's not important."

"I see.  Were you interested in attending one of our meetings?  We'd love to have you."

"Uh, I guess.  Is it Alphas-only?" asked Tony.

"Not strictly speaking, no.  Betas and omegas are welcome to attend, but it's mostly geared toward Alphas."

"...are you an Alpha?"

"Not that it matters, but yes, I am."

Tony decided he liked Nadine.  "When do you guys meet?"

"Every Saturday morning at St. Brendan's church."

"Oh, sorry, I'm not-- I'm not religious," said Tony quickly.

"It's not a religious group.  We just use their facilities. It's free to attend and there's parking in the lot.  We run from nine to eleven."

"Okay.  Cool. Thanks," said Tony.  Saturday morning worked perfectly, if Steve was going to be out anyway.

Pepper walked up suddenly.  "...Tony, did you get another drink?"

Tony hung up on Nadine.

"...who was that?  Tony?"

"No one," blurted Tony, looking guilty.

"Well, get your butt out here so you can be with Steve."

Tony allowed her to lead him back to Steve, who was surrounded by a small crowd of people reassuring him that they had loved his performance, that everyone had.

"They did?" Steve said, not quite believing it. "Really?"

"Yes," Aria said, shoving a water bottle into his hand. Steve took it and downed it heavily and Aria tutted when some of it got onto his jacket. It would dry before he had to go out on stage anyway. He was practically shaking with excitement.

A woman with dark hair appeared and her attire told Steve she was a singer. She was a beta and her outfit was mostly pink and sparkles. "Captain America!" The woman bounded over to him. "I'm so excited to meet you! This fundraiser was an amazing idea!" Her voice got alarmingly high-pitched.

"Steve, this is Katy Perry," Aria filled in quickly at the lost look on Steve's face.

Steve smiled and offered a hand to shake. Katy took it. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Perry. Are you opening the show?"

"You bet."

"Good luck out there," Steve said, his voice warm. He thought recognized the name. He was remembering a firework song, or something? JARVIS played him a lot of random shit in the gym.

Tony appeared by Steve's side.  "...was that Katy Perry?" he asked with delight.  "She's the one who kissed a girl and liked it! JARVIS, is she on my To-Screw List?"

"Yes, sir," said Tony's phone.

"Tony!" hissed Pepper.  "Behave!"

Tony rolled his eyes.  "Yes, _Mom_."  He felt another pang.  That was the second time today he'd reminded himself of his parents.  Fuck.

He found a chair offstage to watch the acts, trying to pace out his drinking, a feat easier said than done.  He kept an eye on Steve, offering him a smile whenever he could, even though he knew Steve could probably feel and smell his depression.  Steve, however, seemed distracted. Famous singers and actors and activists and comedians and politicians were coming at him from all sides to shake his hand and support him, and on top of that, Steve had Aria.

Clint and Natasha, he noted, were absent, but he wasn't surprised.  From the sound of it, they were lying low, trying to keep their noses clean.

For Tony, the whole evening passed in a blink.  It seemed like he'd only been sitting for a little bit when Aria came up looking for Steve to sing _Hallejuah_.

"Oh, he's..."  Tony looked around blearily.

"How many drinks have you had?"

Tony looked down at his empty glass, uncertain.  "...a few?" he guessed.

Pepper materialized.  "Oh, Lord, Tony! You reek like booze!  Okay... okay, I'm going to go get him some coffee and try to sober him up before the... _function_."

Tony whined, stretching.  "No, no no no, I gotta watch Steve sing!"

"Watch on your phone.  C'mon. Let's get a cappuccino and some fries into you before you pass out."  (Pepper had, after years of dealing with Tony, figured out exactly the right items to cram into him when he was half-drunk to keep him fueled.)

Aria found Steve chatting away to Taylor Swift, who had already performed before. She was telling him how awesome the New Year's Eve party had been and how worried she'd been after his 'breakdown interview.' She was giggling and putting her hand on his arm. She was hyper.

"Er, Steve? You're on in a minute. Come on, let's go!" Aria said, shooing him up and towards the stage.

"You're gonna ace it!  Break a leg!" Taylor told him, hands up in the air.

Not a single performer had talked to him about his force bond, which Steve was eternally grateful for. They were just trying to make him smile, make him feel relaxed; that counted for a lot.

"Okay? You ready?" Aria asked, as the make-up came to fix Steve's appearance yet again.

Steve let out a long breath and nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Just don't tell me how many people are watching."

"I won't," Aria said, a small smile twitching at the edge of her lips. The act before him finished up and announced the final act for the night as Steve.

The crowd were cheering loudly, there was so much noise the air practically shook with it.

"Okay. Got get em!" the coordinator told him with a wink, and then Aria pushed him out towards the stage.

* * *

He found a television in a bar.

"You gonna drink anything or just sit there eating the peanuts?" asked the bartender as Bucky stared up at the television, idly munching from a bowl of nuts on the bar.

"...do you have Stolichnaya?" asked Bucky, which was the only drink he could think of on the spot.

"Sure do.  That's it? You just want a shot?  No chaser?"

Bucky shook his head.  The bartender shrugged and went to get a glass for him.

On the TV screen, Steve Rogers was holding a microphone and belting out a sad song.

The man sitting at the bar with his hand curled around a pint of beer sighed with irritation.  "Hey, Randy, can we change it to basketball or something? This is boring me to death. That fucking spade is everywhere."

Bucky was on his feet in an instant.  "Don't you _ever_ call Steve Rogers a spade!" he snarled, hair on the back of his neck rising.

The man put his hands up.  "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, buddy!  Jesus! It's okay, c'mon, we're all aces here!  I didn't know you were a fan!"

"Hey!" barked the bartender.  "You sit your ass down! You wanna fight, you take it outside."

Bucky eyed the man, lip still curled up, but the man was in a submissive posture.  Bucky was easily the most dominant one there. He eased himself back onto the barstool and turned his attention back to the television to watch Steve longingly.

"...he can sing, I'll give him that," said the man beside Bucky cautiously, as a peace offering.

Bucky nodded.  "He used to sing in a group."

"Well, that's omegas for you.  They're all very artsy and creative.  My Benny's like that, too," said the man, still trying to make peace.

"Benny is your mate?"

"My omega, yeah.  I'm in a triad. Got a wife, too, and three kids by her, plus two with Benny, so Randy ends up seeing me about five times a week.  This is the only place I can get any peace and quiet."

Randy, the bartender, chuckled.

Bucky threw back his shot without any indication that he could taste the cheap vodka.

"Another," he demanded.

"You opening a tab?" asked the bartender.

"...yes," said Bucky, who had no clue what he meant.

"I'll need a credit card."

"What's that?"

The bartender stared at him in confusion, accidentally spilling the vodka he was pouring.  He swore quietly as he handed Bucky the shot and went to go get a rag to clean up the mess.  Bucky threw it back, again without any indication that the liquor burned. The man beside him watched him uneasily.

"...so you, uh... you _really_ like Steve Rogers, huh?"

"He's the most beautiful omega in the whole world," said Bucky earnestly.

"...you ever seen that big Steve Rogers exhibit down at the Smithsonian?  I hear they just expanded it, what with him being unfrozen and, you know, an omega and all."

Bucky cocked his head.  "...there's an exhibit?"

"Yeah, at the Smithsonian."

Bucky stood up.  "I'm going there."

"What, now?  ...I don't know if they're going to be open now, buddy."

"You gonna pay with cash, then?" asked the bartender, cleaning up the small spill on the counter.

"I don't have any money," said Bucky.

"...what?"

Bucky got up and walked toward the door.

"Hey!" yelled the bartender.  "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"The Smithsonian," said Bucky, already walking out.  

The man he'd been talking to quickly said, "Let 'im go, Randy, the guy's obviously a nutcase.  I'll pay for him. ...think we'd better warn Captain America about his biggest fan?"

The two of them chuckled, and Randy changed the channel.


	44. Steve Goes to a Function

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are long, but I feel that the two events they cover are self-enclosed and therefore should remain in a single chapter.
> 
> These are also the last 2 chapters of this part of Omega Rising. Part 3 debuts July first, and it's is gonna be lit, so stay tuned!

"I warned you, didn't I?" said Pepper, leaning against the tiled wall of the men's bathroom, tapping one heel impatiently, arms crossed.  Tony was kneeling in front of the toilet, quietly retching. "I told you no drinking and you just couldn't help it, could you?"

"It's that song," gasped Tony.  "It m-makes me so s-sad." He hiccuped, then retched again.

"I swear to God, Tony... hurry up and get it out of your system... we're supposed to be at the function in less than an hour and as Steve's mate, you really need to sober up fast so that you don't embarrass him."

"I love Steve," slurred Tony quietly.

"Yes, I know."

"...I love _you_."

"Thank you, Tony, that's very nice.  Don't say that in front of any reporters."

"...'k... I gotta take a nap now..." said Tony, flopping down onto the tile floor.

"What?!  No! Oh, no!  You're going to get up, drink some water, put on a big, fake grin, and go support your omega!  Right now!" snapped Pepper, reaching down to tug Tony up by the back of his jacket.

"...okay but it's gotta be alkaline mineral water," said Tony, leaning into her.

"...yes, fine, whatever fancy stupid water you want.  March!" barked Pepper. The two of them staggered out of the bathroom together, drawing a confused look from a stagehand who was going in.

"That was amazing! You were amazing!" Aria exclaimed as Steve walked off. He was shaking with the adrenaline and he could still hear the roar of the crowd in his ears as he'd closed up for the night and they'd began to cheer.

"Do... do we know how much we've raised?" Steve asked as Aria lead him away from the stage.

"Still counting. The donations won't stop coming in for a while, Steve. But thousands, hundreds of thousands." Aria looked excited herself, she was practically bouncing on her feet. "This was awesome. You're awesome!"

She pulled Steve into a tight hug. He laughed softly.

"Oh. Hey... where's Tony?"

"I think he wasn't feeling too good. Pepper took him to one of the bathrooms."

"Oh." Steve's face fell a little before he could stop himself. Aria offered a weak smile. They both knew why Tony was sick. "So... what happens now?" He rubbed at the nape of his neck awkwardly.

"We have the function. I think it's at...Bublé's house? Someone with a voice like his, anyway," Aria said and patted his arm. "It's a shame you can't get drunk Steve. After all that, you really deserve to."

"Yeah. Well, healing from bullet wounds in a few days is real nice too," Steve tried to joke.

"You're not gonna be getting shot at anymore though, remember?"

"Yeah," Steve muttered. "I'm not."

He checked his phone quickly.

_ > You're a real sappy bastard. CB _

_ > Nailed it Steve. I'm proud of you. PC _

Steve smiled down at the screen.

"Steve, come on!"

"Just... just give me a minute.  I have a bunch of phone messages."

_ > Hi Steve! It's hard to type on this thing, I'm not really a fan of touch screens. But I wanted to say I saw your performance and it was lovely. Although I won't forget you did lie about doing nothing reckless!! (You owe me a drink Rogers, or maybe the whole bottle.) But I'm glad you're home safe. You better stay that way. And tell Stark I'll beat his ass if he screws up again. Pegs x -UNKNOWN NUMBER _

"Steve? Oh my God, are crying?"

"It's good tears. I promise," Steve reached up to rub at his eyes. "It's-- it's good tears." He sniffed. "Promise."

Aria surveyed the room, and spotted Tony and Pepper against a wall.  "There.  Come on."  She linked their arms and led Steve toward his mate.

"Gargle," commanded Pepper, shoving a small, travel-size bottle of mouthwash in Tony's hand.

He obeyed, spitting the stuff into a trashcan.  They were backstage, next to a folding table that had been set up and was slowly but surely buckling over a bunch of camera equipment that had been set up on it.

"Now drink."  She shoved a bottle of water into his hand.

"Is this alkaline?" asked Tony, squinting at the label.

" _Drink_ ," growled Pepper.

Tony obediently drank the water.  Pepper pulled some wipes out of her purse and began cleaning off his hands, then moved to fix his tie.  Tony nursed the bottle of water sleepily.

"...do you just carry around mouthwash and things in your purse for him like he's three years old?" asked Beth, appearing at Tony's other side.

"...yes," said Pepper grouchily, who was wiping Tony's face off with a cloth.  She reached into her purse again, found a tube of concealer, and began dotting his face, blending it in to hide the bruises under his eyes and the small scar on his lip that Justin Hammer had left there last year.

Tony looked up; Steve and Aria were walking toward them.  Steve was crying.

Tony dropped the water (spraying a bunch of it on Bethany, who squawked in alarm and surprise) and hurried over.

"Steve!  Steve, oh my God, what's wrong?"  Tony lunged, clearly intent of knocking Steve to the ground and covering him.

"He's fine, Tony-- Tony, down!" commanded Pepper, snagging the collar of his shirt.  She shot Steve and Aria a look of apology. "That song gets him all wound up," she explained.  "...but we watched on his phone and you looks fantastic up there, Steve. And Tony's all done drinking now and he's going to go to the party-- I mean, function-- with you and _not have any more to drink tonight, right, Anthony_?"

"Yes'm," mumbled Tony, squirming in Pepper's steel grip like a schoolboy who was in trouble.  He made grabby hands at Steve.

Beth lit up a cigarette behind them with a roll of her eyes.  "The more things change..." she began.

"You're just upset that I dumped you ten years ago," said Tony, glaring at her, sidling up to Steve and slinging an arm around him.

Beth's mouth fell open.  "Excuse me?! _I_ broke up with _you_!"

Pepper was pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

"That's ridiculous!  I'm smart, rich, handsome, witty, charming--"

"--humble--" muttered Aria.

"--why would you possibly want to break up with _me_?"

" _Because you drove a Lamborghini into the Bellagio fountain!"_

"Tony. I'm fine," Steve assured him quickly, his hands up. "I really am fine."

Most of the artists had already left to go to the function. After all, Steve really should be the one arriving there last. He looked at Tony warily, who was either still drunk or over emotional from the song. Or perhaps an unhealthy combination of both.

"Maybe Tony should go home," Aria suggested gently. "Considering what happened earlier too. He still looks pretty... merry." She was pulling a cigarette out herself and she couldn't find a lighter. Bethany offered her one. She smiled in thanks.

"We could grab something to eat on the way over. You said we have to arrive a bit later than everyone else, right?" Steve said, clearly not wanting to leave Tony behind.

"...fine. Let's go," Aria agreed with a sigh and a wave of her hand and they were heading down the steps towards their car.  The SUV, windows tinted, was idling backstage.

"You were incredible out there, Captain!" Happy beamed as they got in. Steve smiled back.

"Thank you."

He replied to Peggy's text as the car started up and got them out of the studio's grounds. He was so excited to have some form of contact with her his hands were practically shaking. Her approval meant so much to him.

They stopped off at a place for burgers and everyone ordered one along with a healthy portion of fries on the side. Steve ate his burger in about three seconds where as Aria just picked at her veggie patty with a look of disapproval. "They never can get it right," she muttered. Aria glanced over to Tony who was picking at his food too. "Dude, you gotta eat the whole thing. And not throw up. And then you can go inside."

Tony was feeling moderately better after Pepper had forced him to drink water.  But he still felt queasy and watching Steve inhale a burger didn't help.

"I can't eat the whole thing," said Tony.  He was eating the burger in the weirdest way possible, pinching off little pieces of the bun.  "...I need a nap..."

"Seriously, he's like three years old," muttered Beth.

"...I don't see how asking for a Happy Meal--" began Tony defensively.

" _Eat_ ," commanded Pepper.

Tony began taking tiny bites.

To his credit, he got halfway through before he set down the burger, unbuckled his seat belt, and curled up in Steve's lap.

Steve lifted his hands up when Tony curled up against him and half on him top on him. He wasn't normally this bad and Steve knew why he was being like this...but it was still strange to deal with. Gently, he curled a hand onto Tony's shoulder and patted him in what he hoped was a comforting matter.

"...March, huh?" said Beth after a moment of silence.  Tony was clearly down for the count, oblivious to the wrinkles he was getting in his suit.

"...twenty-fifth anniversary.  It's a doozy," said Pepper, pinching the bridge of her nose again.  "It's about forty minutes to Silverlake. Maybe he'll be a bit... better after a nap.  If not we'll just leave him in the backseat." (Tony occasionally couldn't be woken; more than once, Steve had found Tony on the back deck or the kitchen counter or the floor of the living room with a blanket draped over him, courtesy of Pepper, who informed Steve that, thanks to him, Tony's frequency of sleeping in an actual bed had gone up dramatically.)

"Maybe you should just take him home," Aria said, watching Tony with a strange expression on her face.  "Don't get ketchup on your suit, Steve!"

"A nap can do wonders," Happy remarked cheerily from the front seat. He'd clearly been witness to many scenes like this one before.

"They can," Steve agreed, letting Tony fall asleep against his shoulder with a fond sigh.

"He'll be fine after some sleep," confirmed Pepper, who seemed, like Happy, to be thoroughly unconcerned.  Or at least desensitized.

Beth leaned over to flick on the radio; of course they were discussing Steve.

"--wonderful performance following a very level-headed press conference, during which he tactfully handled several extremely emotional issues, including force-bonding and a recent miscarriage.  Although many still argue that his actions in Yemen were indefensible, many have expressed sympathy toward his position. Early polls indicate that a majority of Americans believe that the captain's apology, combined with a probationary leave from working with the armed forces and therapy, is a sufficient response to the incident."

Both Aria and Pepper looked pleased with themselves.

Steve almost fell asleep himself on the drive himself, his breathing soon falling into sync with Tony's. Happy switched the radio over to music and the drive was almost peaceful. Aria and Pepper were basking in the afterglow of their success, and Beth just looked grateful for some quiet.

It was dark when they got to Silverlake, a trendy neighborhood which, Pepper informed Steve, was just north of Dodger stadium.  (Even though they'd been the Los Angeles Dodgers for over fifty years, Steve still thought of them as the Brooklyn Dodgers.)

They pulled up to a thoroughly modern-looking house that was lit up with warm lights; Happy navigated slowly through a brass gate that was opened for him by a man in a suit.  There was a fountain outside and a mish-mash of fancy sports cars and SUVs with tinted windows that looked similar to the one they were in.

"Okay.  Steve. Listen," said Pepper, turning in her seat.  "There shouldn't be any reporters here, but remember, you still need to watch yourself.  Every celebrity here has a Twitter and an Instagram and Snapchat and so forth, so act like everyone you talk to is a reporter and make sure you're tactful.  Also, don't let Tony drink anymore. If you can help it, anyway."

One of Tony's bodyguards reached over to shake his shoulder.  "Hey, boss, wake up."

Tony batted the hand away weakly.  "Tell Lockheed I'll do the presentation tomorrow," he mumbled.

"And don't do drugs or have sex in the house," Aria added and Steve's eyes widened.

"Aria, come on--"

"Celebrity culture is contagious, Steve. You'll want to impress them. It's a house full of people all trying to out do each other; don't get sucked in," she advised seriously and Steve nodded.

He moved to open the car door, hoping the fresh air would help wake Tony up. Steve sighed. "Maybe we should just let him... sleep."

Tony's eyes were already open.  "No, no, I'm awake, I wanna party," he protested, flopping out of the car.

"Tony.  No drugs.  No sex," said Pepper sternly.

Tony smoothed down his suit.  "What's next, no rock n' roll?"

"I'm serious, Tony."

" _One_ line of coke to help wake me up."

"Tony!  _No_!  ...Steve, keep an eye on him."

Tony was already staggering toward the house, clearly still drunk.  Pepper sighed and rifled through her clutch for an aspirin. Beth had a look that was a mixture of pity and nostalgia.

"I'm not keeping an eye on him. I'm not his goddamn babysitter," Steve said, certainly not sounding impressed as Tony half staggered past him.

Aria sighed and sent a sideways glance at Pepper as Steve followed Tony up towards the house. "I mean, he has a point. But the fact that there's no one doing damage control in there does terrify me a little."

Even from the car, Steve could hear the music throbbing inside and see people dancing.  The event was catered; waiters were threading through the crowd with plates of unrecognizable appetizers and flutes of champagne.

Over the sound of the music, a male voice suddenly announced, "Oh, and here he is, the man of the hour... Captain Steven Rogers, everyone!"  Everyone broke into cheers immediately. "And, so far, we've raised over _three hundred thousand_ for Yemeni education... let's keep this party going, people!"

" _Woo!_ " cried Tony, immediately getting sucked into the crowd.  It was an eclectic mix of tuxedos and short dresses and bizarre make-up and even though Steve had been unfrozen for well over a year, it was a reminder that he was in the future and everything was different.

...or maybe it was just that Steve hadn't grown up surrounded by this sort of lavishness.

Over three hundred thousand?  Damn.  That was a lot of money, even in modern times, Steve assumed.  And with Stark Industries matching it, that meant over half a million. But Steve didn't feel all that happy, even with the good news. The party was marginally horrifying. There was too much noise, too many lights and a lot of faces he didn't recognize, along with a healthy dose of claustrophobia.

A lot of people stared at him. Steve froze.

One of the omega comedians from before grabbed him, clearly recognizing Steve's rather lost state, and gently lead him over to a sofa. She was the woman Tony had tried to order a drink from. "I'm Arcadia.  You were great up there, by the way. But the news guys were dicks, huh?" she said, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray and pushing it into his hand. Steve was so grateful she'd come to his rescue, especially considering the Tony fiasco earlier.

A lot of people were still looking at him. Were they supposed to approach him or was he supposed to approach them? God, Steve hated this.  He was a soldier, not a celebrity.

"Oh-- no, thank you," he said as she shoved a glass into his hand.  "I can't get drunk. No point," he told her. "I heard your guys' act. It was good. I liked the story about the banana." Arcadia smiled into her drink.

"Everyone likes the story about the banana. Look. I get it, I hate these parties too. Singers and shit...they're insane. They throw good parties though. You really can't get drunk huh?"

She was talking to him like a normal human being and Steve wanted to hug her.

"Yeah. My metabolism is too fast."

"So... can't you just drink like a whole bottle?"

"Well, once I drank a whole bottle of whiskey." The night after Bucky had died. "I didn't feel anything."

"I bet your forties whiskey was cheap though," Arcadia pointed out. "This place probably has some eighty percent shit somewhere. Bet you could convince them to crack it open for our country's favorite hero," she winked and Steve couldn't help but smile.

"Where's your, uh... your partner? Chloe, right?"

"Oh, she's getting chatted up by someone boyband singer." Arcadia waved a hand and then downed her glass and stood. "Come on. Let's go find you some whiskey; _you_ need to unwind."

"I should probably just check on Tony--"

"You can find him later."

And before Steve could protest Taylor was practically screeching when she saw him and throwing herself on him.

This was going to be a long night.

"Steve!  Wow, you did so great up there, my heart was in my throat the whole time but you handled it like such a pro!" Taylor giggled.

"Hi, Taylor," said Steve.  He was pleased that he'd gotten it right this time.

Another gaggle was coming over.  A man with dark skin who was wearing sunglasses approached, followed by two men behind him who were actually about as big as Steve was.  Their ringleader, with the sunglasses, was short and an omega, and with his Alpha entourage, he looked positively tiny. But he walked with a swagger that indicated he had no idea.

"Hey.  Steve Rogers.  I just want you to know, man, that you-- you really changed my life, you know, like, after you came out, I finally stopped taking suppressants and I came out too and I never felt more, you know, like, liberated--"  A pause. He reached up to lower his sunglasses a little and make eye contact with Steve. "...you have no idea who I am, do you? ...man, see, that's what I love about this guy, he's so _authentic_ , you know?  I'm Tectonic but you can call me Trey, that's short for Tremell and only my real good friends call me that, but you and me, we're buddies, right?  We're omega _brothers_ , man."  He slung an arm around Steve and handed him a couple of-- what, pills?  Candy? They were baby blue and reminded Steve of Smarties, a candy he actually remembered from the forties.

"Steve hasn't even gotten a drink yet," said Arcadia, pulling Steve's arm.

"Oh, I'll come with you, I need a drink too," said Tectonic

The crowded parted like the Red Sea for Moses as Steve moved through it, Arcadia, Taylor, and Trey floating after him.  He caught a glimpse of Tony in the crowd, holding a martini, his arm around the waist of a young Asian woman wearing an eye-popping pink dress that matched her fingernails.  Tony, like Trey, was wearing sunglasses indoors; he was having an animated conversation with a man who was possibly some sort of actor and who Steve probably should have known, but didn't.  Even though everyone at the party was part of the Hollywood elite, Steve had heard of only a few of them. Most, like Trey, seemed to find this incredibly refreshing.

Arcadia rolled her eyes at Tony as they passed him. "Seriously? How do you even put up with that? You really are a goddamn saint, Rogers," she said, squeezing Steve's arm as they slipped into the kitchen. There was a lot people in the kitchen, still, but it was considerably less crowded. Steve stared down at the 'Smarties' in his hand and remembered Aria's instructions.  He dropped them into his pocket instead of taking them.

"That's not the man who comes home with me," Steve murmured in explanation. Arcadia seemed to consider this.

"Still. I couldn't do it. But then, I've never been in love."

One of Trey's brothers busied himself with making drinks for all of them. "You do know I can't get drunk, right?" Steve said, trying to make it a joke. Trey grinned.

"Don't worry. We can work with that."

"I'm really sorry but I haven't... I don't really know what suppressants are?" Steve asked as they moved to sit down, trying to steer the conversation away from drinking. "We didn't have them back in my day."

"They're awful," Arcadia pulled a face as she reached over to pick at the canopies.

Trey shrugged. "They basically do what it says on the tin. They suppress... like everything that makes you an omega. They just take away everything that makes you _you_ , you know dude?"

"The fact that they wrote your status out of history," Arcadia said. "That was awful Steve."

"They also wrote off my past misdemeanors," Steve pointed out. "So it wasn't all bad."

Trey grinned. "You got arrested? I thought Captain America was supposed to be all wholesome and shit?"

"Got arrested for breaking an Alpha's nose, didn't I?"

A woman slithered over the counter toward  Steve. "Did you say you broke an Alpha's nose?  Was that after the serum? Dish!" she demanded, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That was before the serum," Steve corrected, sounding proud. And he had been. He remembered strutting all around their apartment with bruised knuckles for a whole week and Bucky being absolutely furious with him (but secretly proud, Steve knew, even if Bucky didn't say it).

"Oh, this guy's legit, he's got priors!" hollered Trey, and everyone was laughing.  "Watch out-- hey, is Carson here? Carson just got off suppressants, too--"

"Suppressants aren't all bad if you don't take too many.  They prevent heats, pregnancy... personally I don't want to deal with that shit," interjected a man suddenly, shouldering into their group.

"Oh, _please_.  Suppressant abuse is like, one of the number-one pharmaceutical issues-- Steve, you should talk about that, next!" said the woman, accepting a drink from one of Trey's brothers.  He handed Steve a drink, too; the smell was intense. It might as well have been pure ethanol. He beamed at Steve, clearly proud of his concoction.

"Now, if _that_ don't get you drunk, nothing will!"

"I've kind of already got a project lined up," he said. "But I'll keep it in mind, thank you. I’m really not hot on twenty-first century omega issues, I'm afraid... I just don't know enough about them."

Steve leaned down to sniff at the drunk. It looked terrifying.

"Okay, okay, okay, I gotta ask, though--" said the woman on the counter, sipping her cocktail delicately.  "--your ex-mate, or first mate, whatever, what's the deal with that? He's, like, ninety years old, right? Do you and Tony, like, go visit him a nursing home somewhere, or like--"

"Oh my God, Steve doesn't want to talk about that stuff right now!" scolded Taylor, giving her a friendly slap on the arm.

"I think it's cool, you're a player, man, I respect that--" said Trey.

"Did you even listen to the press conference?" demanded Arcadia.  "He's got _one_ mate.  ...who seems like a little bit of an asshole, to be honest."

"Isn't he friends with Dennis?" asked Trey.

"They haven't spoken since Dubai," replied Arcadia.

"Naw, I just saw him out there talking to Dennis."

"Oh, good for them, then.  Well, here's to friendship!" said Arcadia, holding up her drink for Steve to tap.  She threw back her drink; so did everyone else.

Steve was grateful for Taylor shutting the other girl up, and almost smirked when Trey called him a player. Ha. Maybe in another life.

Steve had no idea who Dennis was... but then, he barely knew any of these people to start with.  Tony's circle of alliances and rivalries ebbed and flowed like the tide; Steve had long since stopped trying to keep track of who was on which side of Tony's graces.

He clinked his glass against Arcadia's and then downed his drink. The alcohol burned and almost made his eyes water. Still, he would need a lot of these to feel drunk. "Jesus, what did you put in that?" he wheezed.

Trey's brother winked at him. "Let's just say I added an extra special something for our favorite patriot."

Arcadia looked sideways at Steve. "Eh-oh..."

"Don't worry, even I'm not crazy enough to try to roofie Captain America," he said with a laugh, already mixing Steve another drink.  "...wouldn't want him to break my nose."

Everyone laughed, loudly.  Taylor threw an arm around Steve and pulled out her phone.  "Selfie!" she announced.

"Tag me in that!" said the other girl on the counter, jumping into the photo and throwing up a pair of bunny ears like Tony always did.

Steve had gotten used to selfies, although he still found the concept strange. He grew up in a time when people were always taking photographs of other people, never themselves. And he still never did it himself, only ever with other people.

"Posting!"

Aria hadn't been kidding about all of them trying to outdo each other.  It was like being in a roomful of Tonys. Trey's brother pushed another drink into Steve's hand.

"So what did you mean, earlier, you're not into twenty-first omega rights?" asked Trey, leaning onto the counter curiously.  "You're _in_ the twenty-first century.  Those are the only kinda rights we got.  Like, what sorta thing are you..." He trailed off, staring into Steve's eyes, gaze glazed.  "...you got like... like the bluest eyes, man."

"I mean, I don't know much about them. Like the suppressants stuff. No one's ever even mentioned it to me. And unless people do I just have no idea," Steve tried to explain. Omega problems didn't make into national headlines very often, especially before he came out.

Okay. So Trey was high, or at least...seemed a little high (Steve wasn't very good at deciphering this sort of thing). His pupils certainly looked a little too big and too dark to be normal.  Then again, he was wearing sunglasses and so maybe his pupils were like that because of the tint.

"Hey, you ever had a Blue Ocean?" asked Trey's brother, who clearly was enjoying showing off his mixing abilities.  He handed Steve a third drink. Steve didn't remember drinking the second one, but it was gone. "It's my take on a Blue Ocean--"

"Oh my God, it's so pretty!" gasped Taylor, eyeing the drink.  It was opaque and bright blue and smelled like the strangest mixture of chocolate, wine, and something fruity.  Underlying all that, of course, was the smell of alcohol.

"This doesn't look edible," Steve said, peering at the drink that almost looked like it had glitter in it… and Arcadia laughed.

"So _drink_ it!"

"HOLD ON!" barked a familiar voice.  Tony barreled in, dragging the woman in the pink dress behind him, giggling.  "Are you guys mixing drinks without me? Oh, hell no, no no, move aside, move aside, let me show you a thing or two-- oh, hi, Steve!  This is Ji-Yoo, an ex of mine."

Steve had no idea how she could be an ex; she looked barely old enough to drink.

"Aren't you that famous figure-skater?" asked the girl on the counter.

"Yes," said Ji-Yoo, her face flushed, giggling; Tony and Trey's brother were fighting over a pair of shakers, arguing about how to make a Sidecar.

Steve downed his drink when Tony walked into the room. He was enjoying their little omega gathering, it was nice... even if everyone vying for his attention was a more than a little overwhelming. He would have to let Aria know that he wasn't prepared to do this again anytime soon. The third drink was apparently hitting its mark and Steve was beginning to feel a little warm and fuzzy. He pulled at his tie, loosening it at a fraction and popped open a button on his shirt. That was better.

A woman appeared behind Ji-Yoo and she was striking. She was tall, with bright red hair that fell way past her shoulders. She was in a red dress to match and the way her dark eyes moved across the table to land on Steve made him feel almost intimidated. She gave off a Peggy sort of vibe, the 'I'm going to eat you alive' one.

"You sure can sing, Captain," she told him and sipped at the straw of her drink, her lips the same red as dress.

"I'm really sorry," Steve said, trying not to stammer. "I don't know your name?"  He liked red lipstick.  You didn't see a lot of it in this century but he'd always liked it, the way it plumped up a woman's lips.

"I'm Brooke," she said,  leaning onto the counter, hair tumbling down and cleavage popping.

Tony was there in a second, drawn, magnetically, to the hair.  "Well, hel- _lo_ , Brooke," he purred.  "Are you, by any chance, a _natural_ redhead?"

"What kind of thing is that to ask a woman you just met?" she demanded, swirling her drink.

"I like to cut to the chase," said Tony.  "I'm preferable to naturals."

"Which is odd, considering how _fake_ you seem," shot back Brooke.

Trey and his brothers both shrieked with delight and everyone burst into laughter; Brooke looked smug and Tony looked startled at how thoroughly he'd been shot down.  Taylor was already tweeting about it; Arcadia gave Brooke a high-five.

Brooke smiled, her attention back on Steve.  "I'm a model," she said. "But I'm also an activist.  If I weren't an Alpha, I'd join Status Alliance in a heartbeat.  ...want to get some air?" She slid a hand over Steve's hand; her skin was soft and creamy and warm and her nails were as red as her dress and hair and lips.

"Take a drink with you, Steve!" said someone, shoving another one into Steve's hand.

"No, no, no, that's way too much Cognac--" Tony was arguing with one of Trey's brothers about Sidecars again, clearly trying to save face after Brooke had embarrassed him.

"Shut up, you were putting SoCo lime in this earlier, man, you have no idea what you're doing--"

"It's better than Triple Sec!"

"Hey, isn't that how Pitbull drinks his?" asked the girl on the counter.

In an instant Tony was bristling.  "Is Armando here? I swear to God, that asshole--"

Brooke was oblivious to Tony's feud; she was tugging Steve's hand insistently, smiling at him.

Steve felt like he was being shot at with a gun across a workshop, a bullet pinging across the vibranium shield he held in his tiny hands, Howard's laughter echoing in his ears. Because he felt small right now and, Jesus-- when he moved to stand he wobbled for a second and realized he was tipsy. Or maybe even drunk. How much alcohol had that guy given him? They definitely hadn't spiked him, right? Because Steve really _had_ drunk that entire bottle of whiskey before.  And right now he was only on his-- _fifth_ drink?  How had he ended up here?

And Steve had no idea who Pitbull was. And everything was getting a bit loud for his liking. He practically sighed in relief when Brooke tugged them out onto a balcony. He set the drink down; he'd drunk half of it already? Shit. Steve needed to slow down. Or just stop.

And Tony was being _such_ a dick tonight. Steve was actually pretty pissed at him.  It was hypocritical and unfair.  Tony was cozying up to Ji-Yoo like it was nothing, but he would go mental if Steve if was draping himself all over Alphas and _openly_ hitting on them.

He moved to tug his tie off. "Thanks," Steve said to Brooke, his shoulders visibly relaxing as they walked into the cool night air.  His eyes popped at the sight of the skyline before them. "It was getting hard to breathe in there."

"Oh, I _know_ ," said Brooke.  "You must be so sick of people fawning over you and telling you how brave and handsome you are... of course, it's true..."  She leaned her back against the balcony, smiling at Steve. "Great view, right?"

It was.  They were in the Hollywood foothills and to the south, the city sparkled in the night.

Brooke reached over to run a hand down his arm.  "...I think it's sweet how humble you are. I'm sure you hear this all the time, but there's a lot of omegas out there you're really helping."  She pressed a little closer. "...you're probably sick of getting thanked... but here I am... wanting to thank you just like everyone else... wanting to..."  She leaned in a little more. "...show my gratitude..." She tangled her hand into Steve's. Her fingers were the opposite of Tony's; his were rough and calloused.  Hers were impossibly soft.

"I'm only handsome thanks to science," Steve pointed and Brooke laughed at that, like it was funny when it was actually just... true.

And then an alarm bell went off in his head as she ran a hand down his arm and Steve was coherent enough to realize what was happening..

_She. Is. Hitting. On. You._

Steve's mouth went dry and he suddenly felt very, very awkward. "Ma'am, I--"

Brooke laughed again. The noise was sweet. "Did you just call me _ma'am_?"

"I, er, Tony is just--"

"Flirting with girls half his age while inebriated? Touching up his exes in front of you? And, all in all, not appreciating whatsoever how goddamn lucky he is to have you? You're wasted on him, Captain Rogers. And if you only had a male mate before, and now Mr. Stark, surely you want to know what the other half of us tastes like," she half-smiled and her breath was hot against Steve's jaw.

He was blushing, definitely. Steve could feel how hot his cheeks were. And all the alcohol wasn't helping with that, either.

"I, er, really don't think that's a good idea..."

"Not a good idea?  It's a _great_ idea.  Steve, you work so hard for everyone else... let someone take care of _you_ , for once.  Don't you think you deserve at least as much as Tony?  Isn't that what status equality is all about?" She had slid onto his lap and was playing with his loosened tie.  "Be honest with me, Steve... have you ever gotten to be a woman? Has any Alpha ever actually let you use your cock?"  She was whispering now, her face inches from Steve's, her hands touching his chest lightly. "Because _this_ Alpha would let you be on top, Steve... _this_ Alpha happens to _love_ omegas like you who aren't afraid to take charge..."

She reached up to slide her hands through Steve's hair gently.  "Did the serum make that bigger, too?" she whispered, glancing down.

This close, Steve could smell her.  She was dominant, unbonded, and confident.

Back in the forties, female Alphas, because they were female, weren't like this.  Females were expected to be deferential toward men in the same way that omegas were expected to be deferential toward Alphas.  Consequently, most of the Alphas that tried to take advantage of Steve were men; before the serum, no woman had ever given him a second glance.  Post-serum, of course, they were drawn to him like flies. Status aside, Steve was, as Tony had once enviously put it, a "beefcake."

_Fuck_ was Steve's initial thought. And then he felt guilty, he felt _awful_ , because a part of him wanted to say yes. Because this woman was stunning and confident and actually talking to him and touching him how he wished Tony would, instead of cozying up with old flames... he definitely felt a rush of arousal as Brooke pressed closer and he could feel her chest pushing against his own and Steve-- Steve screwed his eyes shut and felt his vision swim and he wished he hadn't had the fifth drink. When did he even finish that drink? He didn't know. But he apparently had.

"Brooke, you are-- you're stunning, and if I wasn't-- I totally would. Don't get me wrong. But I can't-- I just can't stoop down to his level, just because he's being a dick--"

"Don't go all Captain America on me. _I'm_ interested in Steve Rogers," Brooke interrupted him, her eyes fiery. Steve swallowed. He'd never even considered in his life he could have something like this.  He'd never been on top.  He'd never penetrated anyone. Especially with Tony's past, he'd never let Steve take control like that. Ever. And a part of him had always wondered what it would be like, to actually be with a woman...

But he didn't want to be a cheater. _That_ wasn't Steve Rogers.

He was clearly drifting off into his own head space because Brooke was cupping his cheek and drawing his gaze back to her face. "You see, Steve, I'm not interested in status. I'm interested in _men._ And you are the best kind there is. You've had a terrible month, you deserve a treat. Tell me you don't want this..."

Steve swallowed thickly. "This isn't about what I want. This is about what's _right_."

"There you go again.  Being Captain America instead of Steve..." she said, rolling her eyes.  She gave his tie a tug and pulled him forward; their lips brushed.

There was a sudden onslaught of noise as the door slammed open and a moment later, Aria was yanking Brooke off of Steve's lap.

" _Steven Grant Rogers!_  I thought I told you to behave, what the hell do you think you're--"  Aria stopped, eyes widening a little. "...are you _drunk?"_

"Who's she?" asked Brooke, eyeing Aria warily.

The door was still open and the sound of music and chatter and laughter was almost overwhelming.

Suddenly Tony was there, too, drink in hand, glaring at Brooke.  "Hey! That's my omega!" he snarled.

Brooke looked thoroughly undaunted.  "...so... threesome?" she suggested.

" _No,_ " said Aria firmly, but Tony looked intrigued.  Clearly he was weighing his discomfort with his own jealousy with his weakness for redheads.

"I mean, are you a natural--" he began.

" _NO_!" barked Aria, steering Steve back toward the party.

"I'm not drunk," Steve said, a little too quickly. His lips felt chalky with lipstick. Bright, red lipstick.  Mm.

Aria raised a hand to rub it away from his mouth with a frustrated huff. Steve felt guilty and confused. Had she really kissed him? Had he kissed her back? He wasn't really sure.

"Who got you drunk? _How_ did they get you drunk?" Aria demanded as she pushed Steve into a bathroom. She moved to get him a glass of water after shoving him down on the edge of the bath. "Drink this."

Steve took the glass and then downed it.

"You, Steve Rogers-- I thought better of you!" Aria said and Steve saw Tony in the bathroom doorway. His shoulders slumped.

"Well I guess sometimes it's easy to forget I'm _someone else's_ omega when he spends the whole night canoodling with other women," Steve huffed.

"That doesn't mean you stoop to his level," Aria said, refilling his glass.

"I didn't!  I even said that to her! _She_ was the one coming onto _me_."

"Canoodling?" repeated Tony.  "... _canoodling_?  I was just _flirting,_ Steve!  ...unless that's what canoodling means.  I can't always understand your weird old-timey speak."  He leaned against the doorway, sipping his drink, swaying noticeably.  He began singing, " _Take me for what I am... Who I was meant to be... Aaaand if you give a damn.._."

Pepper appeared.  "Tony's singing that song he always sings when he's being a cad.  Did he embarrass Steve?" she asked.

"-- _don't fight it, don't lose your head-_ -" continued Tony obliviously.

"Steve's drunk," said Aria pointedly.

Pepper blinked.  "... _how?_ "

"Yay, Steve," said Tony blearily, breaking out of his song to raise his glass.  Pepper snatched it out of his hand.

"No!  No, not yay, Tony!"

"I mean, I'd consider a three--"

" _Anthony_ ," snapped Pepper.  She checked her watch.  "We've been here less than an hour!"  She and Aria both went to fix Steve's tie at the same time.  Tony slumped in the doorway, the bass pounding behind him in the main room.

He was torn between feeling excited about the possibility of a threesome with a gorgeous redhead and threatened by a more dominant Alpha hitting on Steve.  He would have been panicking more but he'd popped some molly, and was feeling extremely good. He couldn't really remember why he'd felt bad earlier because so far this was a great party, and also, Steve was drunk, something Tony had never witnessed before and was fascinated by.

"If you're so jealous why didn't you just step in and hit on me yourself?" asked Tony.  "...I love it when you come on to me, Steve. If you want attention, all you have to do is ask.  And there's nothing between me and Ji-Yoo anymore. She's seeing some big actor guy now.  Terrance Frost or Vin Diesel or who knows.  One of the guys from _Dead Before Dawn_."

"You weren't flirting! You had your arm around her! And she looks like _five_ years old--"

"Easy boy. Drink." Aria said and shoved another glass in his face. Steve drank it slowly this time. Downing it had made him feel queasy before.

He came up for air to keep arguing with Tony.  "Oh wow. _How reassuring_. She's not available now but what if she--"

"Drink." Aria practically shoved the glass to his mouth and made him finish it. It turned out drunk Steve was a lot more angry and a lot more insecure - like most drunks, actually. Steve didn't look happy. He looked agitated, twitchy. He didn't feel sober anymore but his vision had stopped getting blurry around the edges, at least.

"I shouldn't _have_ to ask for attention. Jiminy Christmas, Tony. Our relationship isn't a game. Brooke never even would have hit on me in the first place if _you_ hadn't draped yourself all over other women," Steve said.

"Steve, drink more water-"

"No. I'm done with this. I am _done_ ," Steve said and within seconds he was up and walking out.

"Ah!  Ah, ah, ah!  Bah-bah-bah-bah-bah!" said Tony in protest, darting after Steve.  "Hey! Wait! Wait-wait-wait! Stevie!" Tony fell into step behind Steve as he wove through the mass of writhing bodies, pulsing to the music.  The lights had been lowered and he was at least getting less attention, though people were still excitedly calling out to him. "Steve! Hey! Look, I'm sorry, it didn't seem like a big deal!  Look, you know I'm a big idiot, c'mon, I didn't know it was bugging you that I was hanging out with Ji-Yoo-- she's twenty-six, by the way-- but now that I know, I won't put my arm around her anymore, I thought that was okay!  _Steve_!"

Tony slipped in front of Steve and caught his eye.  "Steve. I love you," he said, earnestly. "Really. I mean it.  I'm trying to be better for you. And, you know, considering you had that girl sitting on your lap and pulling your shirt open, maybe we should just call it even, huh?  ...let's start over, let's get drunk and take each other home." His voice softened. "C'mon. You're my omega, Steve."

He pressed himself up against Steve, trying to lure him into swaying with the music, which was a strange mixture of jazz and rap, as if Steve's generation and Tony's had crashed into each other.

Steve sighed as he felt Tony lean into him and arms curled around his waist. Steve curled his arms around the other's shoulders on instinct, his brain not quite catching up with his body. It was so easy to lean into his touch. Tony was addictive. Tony was _home_. "You're an asshole," Steve muttered fondly and ducked his head down, their noses nudging together.  "But fine. We'll call it even," Steve breathed. He swayed with Tony, his eyes half slipping shut. He sighed softly again. "I love you too. I'm sorry. I'm not good at being drunk, I'm out of practice... Brooke was so pretty..."

"Total babe," agreed Tony.

He wasn't sure who started it but suddenly they were kissing. Tony was winding a hand into his hair as Steve braced one hand against his chest. And people were whooping around them but he wasn't really paying attention. It just felt to be good here with _his_ Alpha and not anyone else.  Not Brooke.  Who was pretty, but not his.

Tony felt nothing but relief when Steve stopped and actually listened.  He began swaying in Tony's arms and Tony nuzzled his chest encouragingly.  He hadn't done ecstasy in years and he'd forgotten the incredible rush. Steve's body was warm and solid against his, his smell familiar and amazing.  He touched Steve's cheeks, his arms, his neck, smelling him, tasting him, kissing him. Steve melted beneath the touch and the two of them were soon making out like teenagers.

Against the wall, Pepper watched with a sigh.  "...I feel like I'm chaperoning a high school dance."

"Not awful press, people seeing the two of them in love," said Beth begrudgingly.

"Mm.  True."

"...Tony's still got a lot of problems."

"He probably always will.  But Steve's good for him," said Pepper.  "...this is literally the longest relationship he's ever been in."

"...Steve miscarried?"

Pepper nodded.  She didn't add that she thought it was probably for the best.  Tony was unstable and insecure and jealous, and to a lesser extent, so was Steve.  When you factored in Steve's old mate, the truth was, their whole relationship was a mess.  Steve had only been back for, what, two weeks? Pepper chewed her lip, worrying over things.  It seemed unlikely to her that they would be able to go the rest of their lives without another upset.  The question was, what would it be? Another pregnancy? Steve's old mate? Something else? The only certainty in Tony's life was chaos.

The crowd was still cheering and snapping pictures of Tony and Steve embracing.

Tony was lost in Steve's mouth, the familiar shape and taste of it.  Steve's head was bowed and Tony had to stand on his tip-toes a little to make it work, but they _did_ made it work.  Tony was getting thoroughly aroused, and his thoughts were swirling with memories of both Steve and that fucking redhead--

"You're so beautiful," mumbled Tony against Steve's lips, his fingertips running over Steve's skin.  His hand ran down's Steve's arm to his waistband; he pushed up Steve's shirt to press a hand against his abs.

"Woo!" yelled several people when they glimpsed Steve's stomach.

Against the wall, Pepper sighed and checked her watch.  It was getting late, Tony was clearly high as a kite, and she was watching carefully for the moment she'd have to swoop in and keep him from banging Steve right there on the dance floor.

"I'm just not sure Tony is good for him," Aria sighed, looking bored as she tapped away on her phone. "And wonderful. Photos of them making out are already on Twitter." There was plenty of comments already, and dozens of retweets which would soon become hundreds, and then thousands. Aria held up her phone for Pepper and Beth to see. "I guess least it's not a tape--" she added with a hint of mischievousness.

Aria laughed when Beth punched her arm.

Steve's breath hitched as Tony's hand crept under his shirt. Fuck. "Tony, I want you. It's been too long, Tony-- I want you inside of me," he murmured, breath hot in his ear and hands squeezing at his shoulders as Tony's hands snuck under his shirt. His whole body was thrumming with excitement, with alcohol. Admittedly, Steve was surprised by how horny just being drunk was making him but he was in no real place to question it.

Aria and Pepper were on the sidelines though. And they certainly wouldn't let them. They were no goddamn fun. It wasn't Steve's fault he got drunk anyway, was it...? But he might as well enjoy himself now he was.

Tony heard Steve's plea and that was it.  He moaned with delight and reached down with every intention of pulling down his zipper, whipping it out, and acquiescing Steve's request; a moment later a hand was on his wrist.

He looked up.  An angry constellation of freckles and sea-green eyes were staring at him.

"Pepper," he purred.

"You are _not_ about to unzip your pants in front of a hundred people with cameras on their phones," she hissed.

"Your skin is so soft.  Do you moisturize?"

"--you took a bunch of E, didn't you?"

"Your eyes are like cat eyes."

Pepper sighed.  "Okay, come on, let's go, Tony."  She looked over at Steve. "Party's over.  Go grab the microphone and say thank-you and good-bye to everyone.  You two can kiss in the car."

"Omeeegaaa," whined Tony.

"C'mon," said Pepper wearily, pulling his arm around her shoulders to drag him out of the crowd.  She nodded to Aria; Aria swooped in to grab Steve.

Pepper had easily done this several dozen times.  Most of those times had occurred in the nineties.  Tony's early thirties had been a roller-coaster ride.

"Let's say good-bye to everyone and thank them," said Aria, putting a firm hand on Steve's back.  "Are you drinking enough water?"

It was her, Pepper's, and Aria's hope that, thanks to his metabolism, Steve would sober up rapidly.  Perhaps it was wishful thinking. All three of them were aware that Steve, drunk, had the potential to be dangerous and that if he didn't want to be controlled, it would be impossible to do so.  Fortunately he seemed pliable, at least for now. With Tony's attention back on him, he was his usual self. But having no idea what he'd taken or how much he'd had, Tony's entourage was wary.

"And don't be drunk. Or swear. Or mention sex," Aria said before she pushed Steve towards the stage. He nodded, trying to get serious about this. He wasn't quite in the state Tony was and he could be rational enough that he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Tony watched sulkily as Pepper pulled him away from the dance floor, but there was so much good music and loud noises and colors that he was almost immediately lost in wonder.

"I love Steve," he informed Pepper giddily.

"Yes, Tony, I know," she said wearily.  It was late.

"Hey, everyone!  Listen up, here's the man of the hour, Steve Rogers--" called the DJ.  "--and, by the way, we've got the final count in, and we've earned six hundred and twenty-five thousand for charity!"

The crowd erupted into hysterical cheers.

Tony pointed up at the stage and turned to a woman beside him.  "That's _my_ omega," he said proudly as Aria pushed Steve onto the stage.

"Hey, aren't you Iron Man?"

Tony's eyes lit up.  "Yeah! That's me!"

At the front of the room, Steve focused very hard on not looking drunk (whatever that really meant).

He took the microphone. "I just want to say a massive thank-you to everyone here. Without you this couldn't have happened," Steve said, managing not to slur his words. "And this party is great but I'm afraid we have to go home early because Tony's not... feeling very well?"

"They're gonna _bone_!" someone yelled out from the crowd. Steve didn't correct them otherwise.

"So, yeah, they told me not to make this about status but I am so--" Steve got choked up, then shrugged, then grinned sheepishly. The crowd laughed softly. "Omegas fucking rule! And... and respect everybody!"

Pepper dragged Tony toward the car.  They bumped into Brooke on the way out.  Tony babbled something about a threesome; Pepper yanked him away.  As Rhodey had once observed, redheads were Tony's own personal kryptonite.

They left with cheers from the crowd and general whooping noises made in their direction. When they piled into the car Steve felt his head spin a little and so he leaned it against the window, his eyes slipping shut. Sitting down felt really nice.

She and Aria both let out a sigh of relief once they were in the car.  With the bodyguards, it was a tight squeeze. The inside of the car had a distinctive smell of whiskey.

"I told you not to swear," Aria sulkily but was also aware it could have gone a lot worse.

Steve mumbled something incoherent and then said, "I love all you guys..."

"...I got Tectonic's autograph!" said one of the bodyguards with a grin.

"Is he that rapper that came out as omega a few months ago?" asked one of the other ones.

"Yeah.  He was really cool."

"...he got Steve drunk," said Pepper grouchily, shoving bottles of water into Tony's and Steve's hands.  "Drink," she commanded. She had no idea what Steve was on, if he was on anything, aside from alcohol, but whatever it was, he needed to flush it out quickly.  After all, he was supposed to be meeting with Clint tomorrow. As for Tony, she knew exactly what was going on with him.  Tony had very particular tastes when it came to alcohol and "party drugs," and she could spot ecstasy a mile away. Tony was sweaty and flushed and kept clenching his teeth.  The remedy was ridiculous amount of water and serotonin supplements.

"Well," said Pepper, checking her phone.  "The _omegas rule_ comment was pretty dangerous, but I think we're okay.  You earned 1.25 million for a Yemeni educational fund so that ought to soften the blow.  Overall, things look positive." Pepper liked checking on the media's impression of Steve more than Tony.  Tony had always been a controversial figure. After Steve's interview in January, people had _loathed_ Tony for pushing away Steve.  Now, people seemed to have thawed a little.  The horseshoe pin and Tony's clear support of Steve was doing his public image wonders.

On the seat beside Steve, Tony was running his hands all over the blond, practically purring.  Pepper was keeping a half-eye on them to make sure things stayed PG-13. She could tolerate a lot, but she drew the line at sitting next to Tony while he made love to his partner.

Steve half opened his eyes as a water bottle was pushed into his hands, its surface cold. He grunted and brought the water bottle to his lips, drinking greedily. He sighed and let his eyes slip shut as he water slipped down his throat. He crushed the bottle when he was done and dropped it on the floor. "That's-- that's a lot of money," he said, blinking slowly.

He moved to tuck his face against the crook of Tony's shoulder. When he closed his eyes it felt like his vision was spinning so it was better to keep them open. Steve was semi-aware of his surroundings for the rest of the drive, curled into Tony's side the whole time.  Mostly he was surprised at himself.  Aria had warned him about celebrity culture but he hadn't realized how easy it was to get sucked in; he'd thought she had been exaggerating.  He hadn't been drunk since, what, '42, '43?  This was something else, for sure.  He was glad he hadn't taken the little candies Trey had given him.

Tony clung to Steve throughout the ride home.  Despite his size, Steve curled up like a typical omega, letting Tony shelter him.  Tony couldn't stop stroking his skin, nuzzling his hair, kissing his face and neck,  He stayed away from the back of Steve's neck, focusing on his throat instead, not sure what the protocol was for that area anymore.

Steve was only vaguely aware of them pulling into the driveway, the group of protestors outside thinned considerably. Maybe because of the late hour or maybe because of today's events. Steve couldn't be sure.

"Let's just make sure we get them inside then leave them to it." Aria muttered. "I wanna go home to my bed."

"Okay, kids," said Pepper wearily as they pulled up to the house.  "It's..." She checked her watch. "...past three in the morning. Time to go home.  Steve, remember, you're meeting with Clint tomorrow."

Beth grunted in agreement and got out of the car, moving to help Steve walk in. She was strong enough to help support him.

Beth pulled open Steve's door and caught him from falling out.

Tony dragged himself out after the blond, grabbing Happy for support.

"I like parties," he said in a dazed tone.

"Tony.  Look at me.  Remember to take serotonin or you'll end up with one of those awful hangovers.  And try to drink at least one more bottle of water before bed."

"Omega," said Tony, staring at Steve.

"Want me to pin a note on his shirt?" offered Happy.

Pepper sighed.  "Just forget it, Harry.  I'm not a miracle worker.  Take him to bed, will you?"

"You got it, boss.  You want to stay at my place tonight?"

"I think so; I'm beat."

Tony blinked, suddenly slightly more awake.  "Wait.  What? ...you guys hang out outside work?"

"What I do outside work isn't your business."

Tony looked over at Pepper in alarm, even though Happy was already dragging him toward the house.

"I'm good. I'm good," Steve assured Beth with a half smile as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. She told him to drink water and patted him on the back before heading back out to the car. He looked down to see Happy half-carrying Tony up the stairs and his smile widened.  The sight was cute.

He swayed a little when he got to the top of the stairs and grabbed the banister for a moment before making his way into their bedroom. Sitting down on the bed heavily Steve moved to undo his belt buckle and pulled it out of its loops before kicking off his shoes and toeing off socks. He felt warm and he wanted to be comfortable and out of this goddamn suit.

Steve looked up when Happy and Tony made it into the bedroom, Happy holding two water bottles under his arm. "Make sure you both drink one before you go to bed," he said, sounding far too cheery for a sober man at three in the morning.

"Thank you Happy," Steve said with genuine gratitude as he reached over to take an offered bottle.

"Happy, are you... are you taking Pepper home?" asked Tony with alarm.

"She lives all the way in Westwood," said Happy evasively.

"... _you know where she lives_?"  Tony had never seen Pepper's residence.  It was a mystery to him.

"Hey, get some sleep, boss," said Happy.  "See you tomorrow!"

Tony let out a weak noise but Happy was already closing the door behind him.  He turned to Steve to ask his opinion, but the words died on his lips because Steve was kicked off his socks and leaning back, belt already off, and Tony's mouth was watering.

"You did great today," said Tony, reaching up to yank the knot of his tie down.  He crawled awkwardly across the bed to Steve, pushing him down to climb over him, press his weight over the other's body comfortingly.  "...good omega..." he mumbled, lying his head on the bed. Steve's chest rose and fell solidly under him. "Mmmm... warm..." he mumbled with a smile, fingers playing with the soft sheets.

Steve was half-way through unbuttoning his shirt when Tony crawled on top of him. He sighed fondly and let it happen, Tony's body a warm and comforting weight. It was nice hearing it from Tony, even if rationally Steve knew that today could have definitely gone a lot worse than it did. He was just relieved it was over; now it felt like he could carry on living his life again.

"You...you wanna go to sleep? Because I don't really wanna sleep in our suits, Tony," Steve said, sounding a little tired. Since when did being drunk make you tired? Steve thought it made people giddy? Urgh, he was so out of practice. He was never doing this again. What he drank tonight probably would have killed a regular man, or several.  "I've gotta get to Clint's in like...seven hours, no, six...."

"Sleep?" repeated Tony, a bit disappointed.  He wasn't that tired. High, yeah, but not tired.  "...I thought you wanted me inside you." He reached between them to pull at Steve's clothes.  "Clint's boring. Why can't Clint just say whatever he needs to on the phone like a normal person?  How come you gotta go to some safehouse? Do you even know where it is? Do you want another blowjob?"

Steve didn't know where it was, actually.  Natasha had told him she'd give him the coordinates the morning of.  She refused to e-mail or text them. Nothing sent electronically was safe from Tony and she had made it clear that she and Clint only wanted Steve.  It was shaping up to be a very intriguing mystery, actually.

"I do. I just--" Steve sighed as Tony pulled at his clothes and he let him, not exactly displeased by it. Tony's hands were rough and warm, nothing like Brooke's. She said she liked _men;_ well Steve did too.  Like most omegas, he was attracted to Alphas, regardless of their sex. "I suppose I can nap once I'm at Clint's," he said, his resolve crumbling. If Steve was going to bother to catch a jet somewhere he was going to stay for at least a day to make the journey worth it.

Tony rolled off Steve, shedding his clothes and tugging at Steve's.  X always made him want to get naked. Not that he ever needed much encouragement.

"Omega," he murmured with delight, nosing Steve's ribs playfully.

Steve laughed gently when Tony nosed against a ticklish spot and playfully pushed at his shoulder. "Hey, don't be mean," Steve complained in a grumble, his eyes a little glazed over still. He wasn't as gone as Tony but he was still far from sober.  "Where did...where did all our clothes go?"

"We took 'em off," said Tony as Steve pushed him.  He wrapped his arms around Steve, wriggling against him, the two of them rolling around in the bed playfully.  "They're all over the floor. Pepper and Aria are gonna be furious." He leaned down to kiss Steve's chest, his lips brushing over a nipple.  He gave Steve's skin a little nip and Steve jerked reflexively; Tony grinned.

"They're always furious," Steve mumbled, laughing easily as their legs tangled together. He was distantly aware of Tony's erection pressed against his thigh but his attention was snapped away by the drag of Tony's teeth against his skin. He shivered, feeling much more awake than he had before. "Tony..."

"Missed you so much, 'mega... so much.  Wow," he said, looked over Steve's body, hands still roaming his torso.  He looked up, trying to meet Steve's eyes, but Steve's gaze was wandering off into the middle distance.  Tony grabbed his face in both hands and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, trying to get his attention.  "'mega," he repeated lovingly.

Steve's eyes dragged back to Tony's face at the kiss and Steve smiled stupidly, his cheeks pink. "You called?" he tried to joke, giggling a little (almost to himself).  Steve felt so relaxed, so at ease. All the panicking had finally been shut off for one night and he felt more like himself since he'd gotten back from Yemen.  He could almost ( _almost_ ) understand the reason why Tony was always drinking.

Tony beamed at Steve's joke.  It wasn't exactly a joke, per se, but Tony was high and everything seemed funny and bright and colorful and he was just glad he and Steve were together again.

He kneed Steve's legs apart and settled between them, rubbing himself against Steve's entrance.  Steve's body was moist but mostly as a physical reflex; Steve seemed a little bit too drunk to really be consciously into it.

"So glad you're back.  So glad," murmured Tony, tracing Steve's lips with a finger.  They were so pink and plump and soft. He leaned down to kiss them.  "Never gonna let you go again... I swear... love you so much..." He kissed Steve's throat, pressing himself a little more insistently between Steve's legs.

Steve's breath sucked in when he felt the head of Tony's cock against him. That alone was enough to make him considerably more aroused, his entrance getting wetter. Sighing softly, he ached up into the kisses along his throat, his hands moving to Tony shoulders and then to trace down the curve of his back. It was weird touching Tony like this, and being touched... everything felt different, lighter, almost.

Steve tried to playfully nip at Tony's fingertips as they traced his lips.

He smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensations, before he moved to curl his legs around Tony. "Come on, then. Come on," Steve said, sounding a little breathless. "Show me what I've been missing, Alpha. Fuck me."

Tony wrapped his arms around his omega, drawing their bodies closer, and buried his face into Steve's collarbone to huff his scent.  He wiggled his hips, prodding, feeling the resistance. Then he felt it give and he sheathed his length up to the knot with a deep moan, punctuated with a breathless laugh.

Steve grunted and arced up as Tony pushed inside. He was bigger than he remembered, or so Steve thought, in that moment. He clenched around him tightly and curled his arms around Tony's shoulders, drawing him in closer. "F-fuck..."

"Oh... fuck, yeah," Tony mumbled into Steve's skin, rolling his hips.  "...so tight... good boy, Steve..." He didn't bother trying to get the knot in; Steve's body was too tight and they hadn't done enough foreplay, but it didn't matter to him; even only having this much was still glorious.  He could feel Steve's body desperately clenching at the violation and the way it massaged his shaft was sinfully good. He doubted he was going to last very long and he didn't really care.

When Tony called him _good boy_ he trembled. Steve nuzzled against the side of his neck, panting against the skin there, his teeth grazing skin softly. He wanted to be good for him, good for his Alpha. Steve rocked his hips down, inviting him in, his thighs quivering a little at the intrusion. "Bucky," he choked out, voice broken. "Please."

Tony shuddered when he felt Steve's teeth graze his neck.  He nuzzled his cheek, briefly, his cock throbbing inside of Steve.  "...yeah... yeah, my omega..." he murmured, breath catching. Hearing Steve beg for it... that was enough for him to come undone.

Tony lasted less than a minute.  He gave Steve a couple good, long thrusts and then came with a full-body shudder, his knot pressing against the inviting wetness of Steve's entrance.  He'd almost forgotten what the omega felt like, how different his body was. He nosed Steve's skin, his scent at once familiar and not quite right, remaining on top of him, still inside him.

Steve whined and curled off the bed as Tony thrust inside of him. But it ended too soon and whilst the feeling of his Alpha coming undone inside of him felt good, it wasn't enough. He whined and wriggled in frustration and neediness, his hands moving up to tangle in Tony's hair.

"Tony. _Tony_ \--" Steve panted, his breath hot against the other's left cheek. He could still feel the other's knot nudging against him and struggled to comprehend how he once used to take all of it. "Tony. Please, I need-"

"Need what?" murmured Tony.  "...just tell me what you want, anything, Steve, anything..."  He wiggled his hips a little, sleepily; under his, Steve reeked of desperation.  But Tony didn't want to knot him; Steve felt too tight and Tony didn't want to hurt him.  Except Steve was pressing their faces together and whimpering and his hands were grabbing...

Tony pressed in, gritting his teeth a little.  Steve's body was tense under him.

"You. I need you. I wanna cum, Tony, please..." Steve panted, eyes glazed over with arousal and desperation. He clenched around him needily, eyes rolling back at the sensation. It wasn't enough. Was it ever goddamn enough?

"...Steve, I don't wanna hurt you," he said.   _Or me_ , he thought.  Because Steve's body seriously didn't feel like it could take the knot and Tony thought there was a distinct possibility he'd wreck himself if he tried to forced it.

He reached between them to stroke Steve's erection, nuzzling his neck, trying to give him some comfort even though he knew Steve only wanted one thing.

"I know. I know. You don't have to hurt me, please, just--" Steve sighed in relief as Tony's rough fingers closed around him and groaned as he stroked him. Steve rocked his hips into the touch with small undulations of his hips and panted and whined, his head tilted back until he finally came undone beneath him.

Tony felt Steve go rigid beneath him and felt his cock twitch in his hand; a moment later, Tony's hand and stomach were warm and wet and sticky.  He winced a little as Steve's body clenched his cock.

"There you go," he whispered softly.  He kissed Steve's bottom lip. "Good omega... so good."

"Mmmm..." Steve's eyes slipped shut and sleep tugged at his bones almost immediately. "Tony..."

Tony let his muscles relax a little, still on top of Steve, oblivious to the sweat and semen covering them.  "G'night," he said quietly, resting his head on Steve's chest to listen to his heartbeat.


	45. Where Survivors Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who was scared about how the last chapter ended. ;)

Steve woke up at six in the morning to Natasha calling him on his phone. He groaned and moved to sit up but found Tony on top of him. He didn't have a hangover, not like he remembered in the forties. The serum had taken care of the alcohol left in his system well enough. Wincing, he eased off of Tony and rolled over to grab his pants. He fumbled for his phone and answered.

"Nat, hey," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. His voice was a little rough. "I just need to shower. I can be ready in ten."

"Good night then, party boy?" He could tell Natasha was smiling. She probably found all this rather funny.

Steve grunted. "I don't know. I feel kinda gross." He had Tony's dried semen all over his thighs. He didn't really remember last night all that well; he vaguely remembered them having sex and his nails digging into Tony's back as he pushed inside of him. But Tony had been totally out of it too, neither of them were really accountable--

 _Neither of them were accountable_.

Steve paused. Natasha said something but he didn't hear it. Everyone talked about _him_ being force bonded like he'd done something terrible but, really... Bucky had been force bonded too. Steve had been forced into heat and Bucky was evidently not in control of his own actions. And he'd let Tony and everyone else blame Bucky all this time... just to make things easier. Steve swallowed, guilt settling heavily in his gut.

"Sorry Nat, say that again?"

"...I asked if you had a pen for the coordinates, Steve," repeated Natasha.  "...are you okay to pilot a plane? I know I've already said this a couple of times, but these coordinates are top-secret, okay?  SHIELD doesn't have them and we'd like to keep it that way. And don't share them with Tony. Literally only a handful of people know this place exists... well, you'll understand when you get here."

She gave him the coordinates.  A quick glance told Steve that they were for somewhere in Montana, which seemed rather odd.  There wasn't anything in Montana, nothing of significance, in Steve's memory. Montana was one of those lonely, unimportant states people sort of forgot existed.

"It's okay. The Stark jet has amazing autopilot and don't worry, I can ask JARVIS to forget the coordinates once I land. Promise," Steve said. "I got it. Anything else I should know?"

Now that Steve was up, JARVIS was automatically projecting the morning headlines and weather on the back window.  OMEGAS RULE BUT YOU SHOULD RESPECT EVERYBODY: CAPTAIN ROGERS'S EXITING WORDS. STARK-SPANGLED: CAPTAIN AMERICA AND HIS ALPHA RENEW THEIR BOND.  UNDEFEATED: CAP IS BACK AND STRONGER THAN EVER. STEVE ROGERS EARNS $1.25 MILLION FOR CHARITY, APOLOGIZES TO A NATION.

Mostly positive, then.  Not surprising, considering how much people loved Steve.  Of course there were still some protesters. He was an omega who was acting "uppity;" there would always be Alphas who disliked him, just for that.  For having the audacity to asked to be treated like a person.

"One more thing."  Natasha lowered her voice a little.  "You already know that Clint is mostly deaf.  He's self-conscious about it. Make sure you speak loudly and face him so he can read your lips.  Since SHIELD seized all our equipment, he's pretty much re-learning. My signing is awful so it's been kind of difficult.  Anyway, just make sure you're speaking clearly.  Do you want frozen pizza or frozen turkey dinosaurs for lunch? We don't have much food in. Sorry."

"Dinosaurs sound great," Steve said with a smile. "I can't wait to see you guys."

"Hey. You too."

Within twenty minutes he was showered and boarding the jet, setting the coordinates before he began preparations for setting off. Steve was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, nothing special. He'd left Tony a note on the bedside, just so he didn't worry. He honestly couldn't wait to see his friends again; Steve had missed them more than he could express.

JARVIS followed the coordinates to the letter, but it was still unclear if this was the correct location.  Steve landed in the middle of a field dusted with a light frost. If this was a safehouse, it was unlike any safehouse Steve had ever seen.  There was a large, white farmhouse with hunter-green shutters and a wide front porch, and a weathered barn behind it. It sat on several acres of field, and beyond it, there was nothing but trees and mountains.  There was a small pond, frozen over; the road leading up to it was simply packed dirt. An American flag was fluttering near the door. There was a tire swing on a large tree behind it. The whole place screamed "average."

If it weren't for the fact that Natasha was standing on the porch, holding up a hand in greeting, Steve would have assumed he was somehow in the wrong place.

Natasha looked oddly domestic in the doorway of the farmhouse in her large coat. A strange sensation bubbled up in Steve's chest.

He walked to meet her halfway, his shoes crunching over the frost. He was glad he'd worn walking boots.

She jogged across the field.  She was wearing jeans and boots as well; her breath came out in little puffs of steam.  "Hi, Steve! Long time, no see! Here!" She shoved something into his hand. "Here's your mission patch for Yemen.  Unofficial, of course." The patch she had handed him was an ankle bracelet with an American flag background. It definitely wasn't something Steve would be able to wear on his uniform.

Steve stared at the bracelet and smiled before pulling her into a hug. He squeezed a little too tight and Natasha grunted. "It's really good to see you," he whispered.

Natasha pulled back and cupped his cheek briefly. "It's good to see you too. Come on, Clint's inside."

She let their arms brush together as they walked through the field. Steve was about two steps through the door before Clint was tackling him into a hug. "Hey, hey-- it's okay," he said and then realized that Clint couldn't 'hear' him unless he could see him.

Clint pulled back. "I'm so sorry I got you guys into this mess," Steve said, loudly.  He didn't know how to sign anything.

Natasha shut the door behind her, when she spoke she'd made sure her head was tilted towards Clint. "Don't Steve. You made your choices, we made ours. Remember?"

Clint grinned at Steve.  "...I don't mind the vacation.  Oh, this is Cooper."

A young boy, about eight, had appeared silently beside Clint.  He stared at Steve with unwavering curiosity. He had chocolate-brown eyes and brown hair, and was wearing a red shirt.  Why the hell there was a kid present was beyond Steve.

In some children, it was immediately obvious if they were Alphas or omegas or betas.  In others, their status didn't present until puberty. Cooper was one of those children.  Steve would have guessed he was a beta, but it wasn't immediately obvious and probably wouldn't be for several more years.

"Coop, you know who this is?" asked Clint.

"Captain America," said Cooper, tapping his left shoulder twice, lacing his fingers together, and making a stirring motion.  Steve realized he was automatically signing what he was saying.

"You got it," said Clint, grinning.  He looked up and caught Steve's eye. "...this is my son," he said.

Steve stared down at Cooper and his eyes went wide. He could see the similarity almost immediately. The boy had Clint's exact eyes. Natasha was grinning at him, waiting for a response.

"You have a son," Steve whispered, half to himself. He was feeling a strange urge to cry.

"He's super tall," Cooper said, staring at Steve with a giddy expression on his face, still signing what he was saying.

Steve seemed to gather himself a little and knelt down, holding out a hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Cooper." The kid reached out too and gripped his hands. Cooper's own hand was tiny and it made Steve's heart melt.

Cooper shook Steve's hand in that self-serious way that children have.  He waited until Steve had let go to ask, "Did you bring your shield?" His little hands flew; clearly, he was fluent.

"Coop's a fan," said Natasha, who was watching them with a grin, arms crossed.

"You know, _I'm_ in SHIELD, too," said Clint.

"But _you're_ not a super-soldier," replied Cooper, who was still ogling up at Steve.

"...ouch," said Clint jokingly.  He looked over at Steve, expression more serious.  "I wanted to show you what I'm protecting. And... since everyone is shitting all over you for having multiple bonds... I wanted to show you that it's okay, I guess.  That--"

"MOM!" shrieked Cooper suddenly.  "DAD SAID A BAD WORD!"

A beta woman appeared, trailed by a little girl in pigtails.  "Clint! Why didn't you tell me Steve had arrived? I've been in the kitchen for the last hour making French toast... how long has he been here?  Hi, Steve." She pulled him into a hug, apparently not noticing his shock. "It's so good to finally meet you." The little girl grabbed her leg and pressed her face into her mother's jeans, suddenly shy in the presence of a stranger.

"--hope you're hungry," added the woman.  She, like Cooper, signed most of what she said, giving the impression of someone who was passionate about their words, her gestures fast and smooth, like an overly-emotional senator giving a speech.

Clint slid an arm around her waist.  "He just got here. ...Steve, this is Laura, my wife.  And the mother of my children." It didn't escape Steve that, if Laura was their mother, then that must mean Clint was their father.  That he was acting as the head of the household, that he was acting as a man, that he wasn't being cast into the usual role of a house omega.

In the forties, a trio meant an Alpha who either had two omegas, or a beta and an omega.  And the omegas were always mothers. Never fathers.

"And this is Lila.  ...who's normally not shy, actually.  Lila, what are you doing down there? Say hi to Steve."

Lila continued to hide her face, even more shy now that she was being addressed.

"...Lila's two, she's going through sort of a weird phase.  Not sure what her status is yet, either. Anyway... I know you have this thing about trios... so I wanted to show you.  That they don't have to be bad. That omegas don't have to end up at the bottom of the totem pole."

"Actually, the bottom of the totem pole is the most sacred place," said Laura.

"What?"

"The bottom of the totem pole, that's actually the best place on the pole," repeated Laura, much louder, signing.

"Oh.  Gee, really?"  Clint scratched the back of his head.  "...huh. Well, you know what I mean, though."

Steve blinked, absolutely stunned. "You have an entire family. You have... that's a _baby_."

"A toddler, sort of," Natasha pointed out. It was all a bit overwhelming. Clint looked so happy and domestic and nothing like an agent and a secret super-assassin. He just looked like a normal guy, with his wife and kids and... like a beta man would... how did Natasha fit into all of this? Steve had so many questions.

But he could smell French toast. And, oh God, there was so many names.

"Didja bring the shield?" repeated Cooper.

"My shield isn't mine anymore, kiddo," Steve broke it to Cooper and stood up. The kid pouted.

Well, technically it was-- but Steve didn't really deserve it.

"Hey Lila," Steve said and offered her a small wave. The girl offered a small wave back.

"I thought what you said was amazing last night, Steve," Laura said. "I hope we can give you a good deserved break from it all here." The smile she gave him was so warm and genuine Steve didn't know how to react. He'd spent a night with such fake and pretentious celebrities... it was so odd to hear someone say something so sincere and sound like they meant it.

"Thank you, that... that means a lot," Steve breathed. "It's been a little full on."

"Well, come on.  Come have breakfast.  We'll give you the grand tour afterwards," said Laura, gesturing for Steve to follow her.

Lila and Cooper both tore down the hall, sliding in their socks along the hardwood floor.

Natasha followed with a smile.  "...you see why we didn't think Tony needed to know about this?" she said quietly.

Lila crashed into the wall and immediately began bawling.  Clint scooped her up quickly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey... hey... let me see.  Did you bang your elbow? Let me see, Lye... come on. Show Daddy when you hit it.  ...oh, come on, there's not even a scrape! Are you sure it's not _this_ elbow?  This is your _right_ elbow and this is your _left_ elbow.  Here, let me kiss your _right_ elbow..."

The kitchen was large and airy and smelled like French toast.; Laura was stacking a plate for Steve.  "Syrup, Steve?"

"I want syrup," announced Cooper.

Clint sat down and attempted to set Lila down, but she began crying again, and so he sat at the table with her in his lap.

"...the kids hear fine," said Clint after a moment.  Of all the questions Steve had, for some reason, Clint chose to answer that one.  "I wasn't born deaf. My dad drank, and... I'm an omega." He bounced Lila on his lap playfully and offered a small, almost apologetic smile.

"Am I an omega?" asked Cooper.

"For the last time, we don't know yet, Cooper," said Natasha as Laura set plates down in front of them.

"I want to be an omega."

"You're his hero," said Clint to Steve with a small roll of his eyes.

"You'll be whatever you are," said Natasha.  "Eat your breakfast. So, Steve. I heard you met with some bigwig from the World Security Council."

"I want to be an omega," insisted Cooper.  "How come you don't know?"

"Unless you go to a doctor to check your insides, you won't know for a few more years.  But it doesn't matter. You're interrupting. Eat," said Laura, tapping Cooper's plate.

"Can I go to the doctor?" asked Cooper, not willing to let it go.

"A kid asking to go to the doctor.  Now I've heard everything," said Clint, rolling his eyes.  "Cooper. Eat."

"Can I go to the--"

"It's magic French toast.  It'll turn you into an omega," said Clint.

"Clint, don't tell him that!" protested Laura, but Cooper was already eating with gusto.

This would never have happened in the forties. None of it. There would be no omega father and certainly no kid asking to be an omega, and a boy too to boot. Steve was stunned all over again and seriously reminded of how far he'd come. Sure, omega rights had a way to go yet but Steve didn't spend enough time appreciating its achievements.

"Yes. Gideon Malick," Steve nodded, blushing a little as Laura gave him a double portion of French toast to start with. "He tried to order my lunch for me."

Natasha smirked. "And how did that go for him?"

Steve looked over, a glint in his eyes. "Not very well."

Lila was still crying and Clint was trying and failing to calm her down. The way he was looking down at her made Steve's chest constrict a little. He'd never seen Clint look at anyone like that before, not even Natasha.

It was so domestic, Steve wouldn't even be surprised if a dog ran out into the room.

Cooper grinned around a mouthful of toast. "I want to be an omega and I want to save people like Captain America does.  And drive a tank!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," said Laura.

"Oh, _no_ , Laura," said Clint, looking up suddenly.  "You accidentally gave him _opposite toast_.  Now he's going to turn into an Alpha.  And a girl."

Cooper spit out his food onto the floor.

" _Clinton_!" cried Laura, glaring at Clint, who was grinning.  She looked over at Steve, mortified. "I am so sorry, normally he's better behaved-- Cooper, I cannot believe you, clean up that--"

"Hey, wait a second, what's wrong with being an Alpha and a girl?" asked Natasha, eyes glinting.

"Oh, come on, Laura, it's Steve.  He's practically family," said Clint, who was still bouncing Lila and trying to get her to calm down.  She looked like she couldn't even remember why she was upset.

Cooper whistled and, sure enough, a dog that looked like some sort of lab mix came in and began eating the half-chewed pieces off the floor.  Lila stopped fussing and pointed to the dog. "Lucky," she said.

"I can whistle," Cooper said to Steve, a bit proudly.

"I don't even know why I bothered with plates.  I could have just put the food into a through and let you eat out of it like animals," said Laura, shaking her head.

The dog walked over to Steve, having finished licking the floor, and set his chin on Steve's knee, looking up at him lovingly, clearly hoping for more toast.

The dog was adorable. And Steve reached out to scratch between his ears before the dog was lured away by more toast. When Clint said they were practically family Steve's head shot up and Clint caught his gaze, offering him a small smile.

" _Lucky!_ " called Lila, grabbing a piece of toast off of Clint's plate and throwing it onto the ground.  She laughed when the dog hurried over to scarf it down.

"Lila, we don't throw food, no matter how funny it is," said Clint.  He looked over at Steve. "Let me tell you, man, having a two-year-old makes the whole secret agent gig seem easy.  So what did Malick want? I'm guessing he wants the status rights crusade to end, huh?"

"Malick wants me to behave, essentially. But I think we have different ideas about 'behaving'," Steve said.

"But behaving certainly isn't throwing toast all over the floor," Laura pointed out. She seemed so normal Steve was struggling to work out how she fit into two assassins' lives.

"We've met a few of the councilmembers before," said Natasha.  "Fury came up with the Avengers Initiative about two years ago and they lost it when they saw Clint was on the short list..."

"--Fury is the one who helped me set this up," said Clint, gesturing vaguely.  "I wanted to keep it off the record. Records can be hacked."

"Get this.  He convinced them not to tag Clint, because they said he was... what did they say again, Clint?"

Clint rolled his eyes.  "They said, _oh, don't worry about him, he's one of the_ good _omegas, he won't stray too far from his Alpha.  Just give the girl a tracker._ "

"Can you believe that?" said Natasha.  "...I guess they saved money. Oh, but they put a tracker on Phil, since he's not bonded.  Said they couldn't trust an unbonded omega."

"Yeah, they totally let me off the hook," said Clint, forking a piece of French toast and pulling it out of the way of Lila's small, grabby hands.  "Said I was only doing what Nat wanted me to, couldn't be held responsible. So I guess I get to go do more work with PEGASUS out in Mojave, which is... well, it's boring, but it's a safe assignment," said Clint, shrugging.

"I already disabled my tracker.  I've been feeding them false data for days.  They think we're in Boston," said Natasha. "How about you?  Did Tony finagle yours, or did you just smash it off?"

In an odd way Clint sometimes reminded him of Dugan, even though one was an Alpha and was one an omega... it didn't matter. They were both such warm-hearted people, and they let Steve in. So many soldiers and agents were closed off. They weren't like that.  He bet Clint and Dum-Dum would have been friends, if Dum-Dum were still alive.

"JARVIS told me not to worry about on the way over," Steve said. "But I'm keeping it on, it doesn't bother me that much- they know where I live anyway," he pointed out. Clint shrugged.

"Makes sense. After making the whole nation cry last night, I think they'll probably come and officially remove them soon anyway," he said. "You've gone above and beyond your duty, Steve, to make the security council happy."

Steve didn't say it because it felt weird, but he did it more for Fury than anyone else... Nick's approval meant a lot more to him than he would ever admit out loud. But the fact that he did all this for Clint was a testament to the man's character. Nick Fury was a good egg, even with all his shouting and deadly one-eyed stares.

"So now what?" asked Clint, managing to navigate the toast around despite Lila's best efforts to grab it.  "Me and Nat know what our next assignments will be, but you... you're on hiatus, yeah? What'll you do?"

"...how's Tony holding up?" added Natasha quietly.  There was no maliciousness in her voice. Perhaps seeing how Tony had reacted when he thought that Steve was dead had made her realize that, despite all his selfishness, Tony truly did love Steve, as best he could.  Tony was emotionally stunted, yes, but he still clearly cared about Steve.

"I don't know if I'm ever going back to SHIELD," Steve said honestly, half of his toast already gone. Somehow, Steve managed to eat gross amounts of food without actually appearing _gross_. He never stuffed it into his mouth; he just sort of... inhaled it. "They made it sound pretty final when I was in hospital."

"You were in hospital? Were you sick?!" Cooper asked, eyes going wide.

"Yeah. But it was nothing serious," Steve told him and the kid went back to munching on his breakfast.

_Nothing serious. Ha._

"Tony's doing well, considering, but it's the twenty-fifth anniversary of... you-know-what, so he's just kind of out of it all the time."

'Kind of out of it' had become Steve's polite way of saying that Tony was going through a bad drinking phase. It meant he could talk about it with Natasha and Clint in public or around other people and not have to worry about dropping Tony in it. Laura seemed to also know what it meant though, or at least...she knew it wasn't good. "But with my neck he's great, actually," Steve added softly. "Better than me, even."

"...that's great, Steve," said Natasha with a small smile, even though her eyes still looked concerned.  She clearly wanted to ask about the neck situation but didn't feel comfortable. Particularly since she was an Alpha and there were two small children at the table.

"The word is, they shelved Fury's Avengers Initiative," said Clint.  "He seemed pretty bummed about it. Not really sure why we needed it, though.  If you talk to Fury, he always sounds like Armageddon is about to happen any day now."

Natasha hummed in agreement.

"...any word on... you-know-who?" asked Clint, looking at Steve.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Steve said. "No one’s given me the full story from Yemen yet. I still don't know what kind of situation I left behind. I... I heard him speak to me once, I think. But how do I know it's him and not... _other people_?"

It felt wrong to say the name HYDRA in front of children somehow.

Cooper had finished his toast, and so had most of the people at the table. "Do you want to gather everyone's plates Cooper?" Laura asked and the boy bounded off his chair in response.

He took Steve's plate with a grin; Steve said thank-you. Cooper looked delighted with himself.

Laura moved to stand up. "Why don't I make a round of coffee?"

Clint cleared his throat.  He finally managed to put Lila down on the floor; she wobbled off quickly to hug the dog, who was stalking after Cooper in the clear hope that there was more food on the plates.

"Well, there were... tapes.  Sam watched them. Said it was definitely him that--"  Clint gestured to the back of his head. "The guy he answered to, that Colonel Karpov guy... he's missing.  They've been keeping a close eye on the situation and it looks like... you-know-who... is basically missing too.  I don't know if he went with Karpov or if both of them are on the lam. But they don't know where he is any better than us."

"He did everything Karpov said. It was terrifying," Steve whispered so the children messing around in the background couldn't hear. "He nearly made him-- I mean, he made him _try_ to...if Bucky is with Karpov then I wouldn't even know where to start." Steve sighed and rubbed at his temple.

"What did he say to you, Steve?" asked Natasha.  She was more interested in the practical questions.  If the Winter Soldier was trying to lure Steve somewhere, then something was wrong.

"He didn't say anything significant. Just that I was his. That he was...coming, or something? It's hard to get actual words and not just meanings."

Natasha nodded. They knew what it was like.

"Oh, and more bad news," said Clint.  His speech was off just a little bit, as if he were drunk.  It was clear he couldn't hear himself and so his words slurred just a tiny bit.  It took some getting used to.  "You know Sitwell? Well, uh... he's completely off the hook.  Because our detention and interrogation was considered illegal and coerced.  SHIELD canned him but they can't arrest him, so he's pretty much getting off scot-free."

Steve looked angry at the mention of Sitwell. "He's like the worst double agent ever, how the hell is he getting away with this?"

"Simple answer. He's not the only double agent," Clint said.

"Or people can't be bothered with him. He's a small fish," Natasha pointed out. "And if SHIELD let a double agent into Cap's house...that looks bad on them."

"I just..." Steve looked up. "What situation was Bucky in, when you...left? It's been bugging me. That I didn't know that."

Natasha frowned.  "I can only tell you what I saw.  I showed up and he was on top of you.  It looked like... he was going to..." She was speaking quietly, but still censoring herself, just in case.  Laura was distracting Cooper, getting him to help with the dishes, although she clearly had an ear turned to what Natasha was saying.  "...I told him to back off. He reacted the way any Alpha would. He got aggressive, told me to back off, started bristling, laid himself over you.  There was no way to get him off, so I tased him. He tried to attack Sam, again, because he saw another Alpha as a threat, so I tased him again. And then we left him.  ...that's really it. Was he going to...? I don't know. It looked that way. You were pretty much unconscious from hunger and getting over an induced heat. We don't know what happened to him afterwards.  But we know from intercepting HYDRA communications that they don't know, either. He could be anywhere. ...what's your plan, Steve? He's not the person you used to know. ...and I don't think Tony's quite ready to be in a trio with another Alpha."

"I'm not talking about trios, Natasha. But I'm also not willing to abandon someone whose been my friend my entire life even if he did..." Steve trailed off. People forgot Steve had known Bucky since he could remember. They hadn't always been bonded and fighting each other, and even once they were bonded, they had good days. Very good days. Bucky had been a part of his life longer than anyone else had. "He needs me now. More than--"

Lila wobbled over to Steve suddenly and wrapped her arms around his leg, then began scaling him to sit in his lap.

He stopped speaking when the girl climbed into his lap and watched in fascination as she grabbed one of the strings of his hoodie and began to nibble on it.

Cooper seemed to notice and, jealous of the attention, abandoned the dishes to commandeer Steve's attention.  "Want to see my room?" he asked eagerly.

The fact that Bucky wasn't with HYDRA was game changing. It meant he had a chance. It meant Steve might just be able to help him.

"Steve. You nearly died out in Yemen," Clint said softly. "He hurt you."

"And I wasn't the only one who was forced bonded," Steve muttered and then stood, carrying Lila in his arms as he smiled down at Cooper. "Sure, lead the way."

"Yippee!" Cooper bounded out of the kitchen, expecting Steve to follow.

The adults let Cooper lead them up the stairs.  The walls were lined with family portraits. Clint and Laura, then Clint, Laura, and Natasha.  Then a bulge, then a baby, then Cooper, then another bulge... the photos lining the hall beside the stairs was like watching a fast-forward version of Clint's life blooming in front of Steve's eyes.  Natasha was in every single one, except for the very first few.

It was the first baby bump picture that caught Steve's eye.  Laura was standing there, smiling, one arm around Natasha and the other around her rounded stomach.  Clint was kneeling in front of Natasha, his head resting on her thigh, his hands on Laura's stomach, also smiling.  The three of them had a perfect synchronous relationship that didn't look like any one of them was the third wheel.

"If you don't mind my asking..." said Laura as they tromped up the stairs.  "...I'm a beta, so I don't really... completely understand the dynamics. If you two were _already_ bonded, how can you be force-bonded?  I understand he assaulted you, just... not the bonding."

"He didn't _assault_ me," Steve said calmly.

"They call it force bonding if the omega couldn't consent to it," Natasha explained quietly. "Steve doesn't remember it, and they induced a heat. If an omega doesn't remember it, it's assumed they couldn't consent to it.  Since the bond was distanced, maybe even partially severed on Bucky's end, the bite was re-bonding."

Laura nodded sombrely.

"You sure seem to like kids," said Natasha, making a face at Lila, who made a face back over Steve's shoulder.

"How can you not like kids? They're adorable," Steve said, holding Lila like it was second nature. He knew Tony didn't want children, and he was okay with that...but that didn't mean Steve couldn't secretly maybe get a little broody. Also, the fact that Clint managed to work for SHIELD and have kids, and a family...that was inspiring. But Tony didn't want children. So it didn't matter.

Steve wasn't sure they could ever real deal with it anyway, not with HYDRA and/or Bucky in the background.

Cooper dragged Steve into his room and immediately began the grand tour; Clint stepped on a plastic dinosaur and swore.  "Shit!"

"Mom, he said it again!"

"Clint, watch your mouth.  Coop, don't leave out T-rexes where your dad can step on them."

"That's not a T-rex.  It's a pachycephalosaurus," said Cooper.  He looked up at Steve. "That's Latin for rock-head lizard.  See, he's got a skull on the outside and he could use it to smash into other dinosaurs."  He handed Steve the dinosaur; Lila immediately reached for it, clearly intent on putting it into her mouth.

"Cooper's very into dinosaurs right now," explained Laura.  "I made the mistake of letting him watch Jurassic Park and now he's obsessed."

"I'm going to be a paleontologist when I grow up," said Cooper.  He considered for a moment, then added, "Or maybe a fireman. I don't know yet.  Maybe I can be a fireman on weekends. Anyways, these are my Pokemon cards." Steve was suddenly handed a binder.  Lila had commandeered the plastic dinosaur and was gnawing on its head, drooling copiously down her dress and Steve's shirt.

"As you can see, Cooper's got all of your memorabilia," said Clint, gesturing to a poster on the wall of Steve in full Captain America regalia.  "He made me play a video game with you in it. I lost."

"Dad's pretty bad at video games," said Cooper off-handedly, tearing across to another part of the room.  "And this is a real antler I found in the woods from a deer. Dad helped me clean it. I have to keep it on the shelf so Lucky doesn't chew it up.  ...or Lila."

"Your sister isn't a dog, Cooper," said Natasha.

"Yeah but she does slobber a lot," said Cooper, shooting Lila a look.  The pachycephalosaurus in her small, fat hands was shiny with drool.

"She's working on the next great extinction," said Clint, grinning at her.  "Aren't you, princess? _Rawr_."

Lila's whole face broke into a huge grin and she laughed around the dinosaur in her mouth.

"Firemen are cool," Steve said. "Sorry, did you say... Pac-Man?  I know about Pac-Man."

"Pokemon," Natasha corrected. "'Pocket monsters'. They're a game, sort of."

"Right," Steve said. Lila began poking his neck with the dinosaur toy. It didn't hurt, so he didn't comment on it. But it wasn't great having some random child poking at the fresh scar. He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.

"Want me to take her?" Laura offered. Steve passed her over with a small smile before kneeling down beside Cooper so he could go through his favourite pokemon cards. He jabbed a finger at a purple monster named Gengar that was shiny and popping out of the card in 3D art.

"He's my favorite," Cooped grinned.

Steve nodded. "He looks kinda scary."

"Yeah, that's because he's a ghost Pokemon.  He evolves from Haunter," explained Cooper.

"I think there's some sort of card game but I don't get it," admitted Clint sheepishly.

"--and this one is Gyrados.  He's really powerful but he's not shiny.  And _this_ is the first one I ever got.  It's just a regular Nidorian. Jason gave it to me."

"Jason's the kid who lives on the neighboring farm," explained Laura.

"We're in the middle of nowhere," said Cooper.  "Jason's house is like miles and miles away and you have to take a car to visit him. _And_ he's an omega.  You can't even go trick-or-treating.  But that's okay because we have our own lake too and Dad put fish in it and one time he _shot one with an arrow_."

Cooper's excitement was infectious; Lila shrieked with delight and grabbed a fistful of Natasha's shirt.  Laura passed her over; Lila babbled "Aunna Natnasha! _Up!_ "

Natasha put Lila on her shoulders, Lila waved the dinosaur around a bit, squashed her hands on the back of Natasha's head, and then loudly announced " _Bahg_!"

"No bahg on me.  Only Dad and Steve," said Natasha.

" _Bahg_!"

"She means bond," explained Laura to Steve.  "That's what she calls bonding marks.”

"Did you know you were the first ever omega to be a commissioned captain in the army?" asked Cooper excitedly.

"Pretty sure he knows," said Clint.

"If I'm an omega I'm going to probably go into the army and be a general.  There's never been an omega general so I could be the first one."

"I thought you were going to be a paleontologist-fireman," said Laura.

"Oh, yeah.  Well, I'm only eight," said Cooper with a shrug.

" _Bahg_ ," said Lila, pointing to the back of the dinosaur's neck and then hitting Natasha over the head with it.  Natasha winced a little but made no move to remove the child from her shoulders. She had an expression on her face that Steve recognized.  It was the same one Tiberius had gotten when holding one of the Walker babies.

Steve didn't think now was a good to time to break it to Cooper that he was technically never a captain and it was just a name and that there _still_ hadn't been an omega captain.  Steve's title had been honorary.  Everyone treated him like a Captain but it was only because he was a super-soldier.  A regular omega would never have been given such a title.  "Can omegas join the army now?" he asked, suddenly curious as he watched Natasha take a dinosaur attack. He almost wanted to ask her the same question: _you like kids?_ But now wasn't the time or the place.

"Not allowed on the frontlines," Laura said and Steve nodded. Sounded about right. It was an improvement from the forties, at least. He remembered trying to enlist all those times and every time he got laughed straight out of the building. He'd wanted to go with Bucky so badly, fight the good fight... he guessed he'd gotten to, in the end.

"The coffee will be ready if people want it," Laura said. "Cooper! Cooper, why don't you let the grown ups have someone alone time for a minute?"

Cooper pouted, clearly not impressed. Laura reached over to take Lila from Natasha and then smoothed out her hair from where it had been ruffled by dinosaur attacks. "It's okay. I'll keep them occupied. You guys take as long as you need."

"Wait!" cried Cooper.  "I have a question! Did you-- did you always know you were an omega or did you have to wait to find out like me?"

"Last question," said Laura, who could sense when Cooper was gearing up a full-scale interview.

"'Mega," said Lila, pointing to Steve.

"Omega," said Clint, sticking out his pinkies and bringing one down past the other.

Lila copied the sign, which was awkward, as she was still holding the dinosaur, then tapped he thumb against her head.  Clint smiled and stuck out his thumb, index finger, and pinkie in the symbol that looked vaguely like a "rock on" gesture.  Lila giggled and copied it.

"I'll put on some coffee... we can talk on the back porch," said Natasha, turning to go downstairs.  She was well-aware that Steve probably had a million questions; it was a testament to his patience that he had allowed Cooper to commandeer the conversation to explain dinosaurs and Pokemon to him.

Steve had always been sick. His mother had always been concerned with his health, not his status. She'd spent most of Steve's childhood worrying far too much about hospital bills and the way Steve would struggle to breathe at night...he'd always been free-spirited though. Even on the playground as a child Steve was getting into scraps and fighting with the boys who picked on the littler kids, despite the fact that he was one of them. A part of Steve had known, he thought, that he was an omega. He'd always felt... different to the other boys, almost all of who turned out to be betas. Just like he always knew Bucky would turn out to be an Alpha, the only person who could ever reign him in.  And, certainly, everyone had always treated him as an omega, before puberty.  It must have been obvious.

"I think I always knew," Steve said. "But I don't think always knowing really made any difference."

Cooper seemed unsatisfied with the answer but kept his mouth shut.

"Come on," Clint patted his arm. "We'll be back later," he told Cooper and then promptly dragged Steve out of the room before another question would be asked which he would be too polite to ignore.

They walked back down the wood stairs, stopping by the dining room to get cups of hot cocoa to take onto the back porch.

Outside, the weather was cold and crisp.  Steve noted a stack of hay bales in a field, with targets spray-painted on them and a few lone arrows sticking out.

"...it's beautiful, isn't it?" said Clint, staring out at the fields.  "My own persona Eden. Peaceful. Off the grid. No politics here. No danger.  Just my family." He took a sip from his mug.

Natasha slipped an arm around his waist, and he lay his head on her shoulder.

"It really is," Steve agreed softly. _Beautiful_ was exactly what came to mind. It was quiet and there was no one else here, no audience. No one had to pretend or hide anything. Cooper could be himself and be happy and didn't matter what his status would turn out to be. Steve almost envied them, having all this... but he also knew he couldn't do it. Steve grew up with the noise of a city; he couldn't imagine living without it. The quiet was serene right now but he couldn't handle weeks upon weeks of it.

"...you probably have questions," said Natasha.

"The whole point, Steve, is that... there's a life after all the fighting and campaigning.  There's something more than politics and policies and all that. Sometimes you have to just be human," said Clint.  "Me and Nat, we've done a hell of a lot over the years. But this... I'm proudest of this. This--" He gestured to the farm.  "--isn't about Alphas or omegas or governments or agencies. This is just about people who love each other. And I guess ultimately that's why I do what I do.  It's the right thing. I want a better world for my kids. Y'know?" He lapsed into silence, sipping his cocoa.

Steve sat cross legged on the porch next to Nat and Clint, cradling his drink between his hands. It should have been too hot for him to hold still but the serum meant Steve didn't mind it. "Is that your polite way of telling me I need to do more 'human' stuff?" Steve asked, no bite in his tone. He didn't have to turn his head to know they both smiled. That's what friendship was.

Natasha's gaze flicked over sideways to him. Clint had already been watching, reading his lips and Steve had turned his head to the right to make it easier for him.

"Yeah, you do," Natasha said. "You really do Steve. What did you do before the war?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. I survived, I guess; wasn't much time for much else."

Clint was watching him curiously. "You're not freaking about this as much as you thought you would."

Steve smiled a little. "I don't think I've ever seen you two look so relaxed in my life."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a loving glance, Clint nuzzled her arm a little.

"Maybe a break from SHIELD is good for you, Steve.  You and Tony... you have a lot of stuff to work out.  Relationships aren't easy," said Natasha.

Clint laughed.  "Laura about hit the roof when I brought Nat home.  I mean, we'd discussed about me getting an Alpha, but... well, talk about unexpected."  Clint paused, a strange expression on his face. "...you know. When me and Natasha met, I was in heat.  I was supposed to assassinate her, actually. I tracked her across half of Siberia, but she was wily. By the time I cornered her, I was out of suppressants."  He paused, then added, "You know we bonded while I was in heat, right? ...I'm not saying I consented, exactly. But that what happened was organic and natural and neither of us regretted it afterwards.  Not for a second."

"Clint saved my life," said Natasha simply.  "And he gave me a family. I never thought I'd..."  She trailed off, staring at the tire swing in the yard.

"What happened in Yemen was fucked up.  You shouldn't've gone there. But I also think this gives you a chance to really... pull apart yours and Tony's relationship, and work on it.  Double-bonding doesn't make you any less of a person unless you let it. I'm not saying what happened was okay. Just that there's a silver lining here.  That sometimes, when shit happens, it's a blessing in disguise because it leads to a lot of great things happening later down the line."

Natasha nodded, stroking Clint's hair mindlessly.  "Tony is a selfish asshole but... I think this was a good wake-up call for him."

"It was a wake-up call alright," Steve whispered. "He's trying so hard. He's been so...good about it. It's almost scary. He tries to touch my neck so I know it's okay but I..."

"You don't like it," Clint finished for him.

Steve nodded.

"But if Bucky's out there I want to help him. I can't express what they did to him; he wasn't a person...it was terrifying," he whispered and brought his cup up to take a sip of cocoa. "No one deserves that. And part of me...part of will always love him, I guess. And I can't just abandon him."

"That's the thing about double-bonding, Steve.  You get pulled in two different directions. You want to help Barnes but you want to be loyal to Tony," said Clint, idly rolling his head into Natasha's hand as she petted him.  "And don't feel bad about not liking the neck thing. It's normal not to like other Alphas touching your neck. It's a private area. The thing is, biologically, your body had accepted Barnes as your primary Alpha.  So when Tony touches it, it's going to feel weird, instinctually. And that's okay. At the end of the day, it's _your_ neck."

"Speaking as an Alpha," said Natasha, "I don't want to dismiss Tony being pretty sympathetic about this.  But I also want to point out that his touching your neck... that's also instinctual. He wants to re-establish dominance.  I'm sure he always wants to make you feel better and let you know he still loves you. But you should know, there's probably a part of him, subconsciously, that's feeling extremely territorial about all this."

"You don't have to apologize for loving both of them," said Clint softly.  "I love Laura. I love Natasha. They fulfill very different roles in my life.  Laura is my wife and my best friend and the mother of my children. Natasha is my Alpha and my partner.  I think the main thing is making sure you're safe. Because Barnes is... well, let's face it, he's a wreck, man.  Completely unstable. And I know you want to help him because that's how you are, but you gotta protect yourself too."

* * *

Tony dragged himself to St. Brendan's wearing sweatpants and sunglasses with the hangover to end all hangovers.

He didn't remember a goddamn thing from the previous night; fortunately, Steve had left a note reminding him that he'd be at Clint's.

...which meant Tony had all morning to check out the POSSV group.

St. Brendan's was a huge stone church with stained-glass windows and it was quite imposing.  It took Tony twenty minutes of stumbling around the grounds before he found a sign with an arrow that pointed towards the meeting.  He poked his head into the church basement; there were about a dozen folding chairs arranged in a circle but only seven people.

Heads turned.  Shit.

Tony eased into the room; a young woman with short hair was gesturing for him to come in.

"Hi, welcome!  Take a seat!"

Tony plopped down into a seat, holding his cup of coffee tightly, wishing he hadn't been noticed.

Automatically, his brain had categorized the group.  Of eight people (including himself), there were five men and three women, six Alphas and two betas, and he was the third most dominant.  (Of course, if you discounted the betas, his ranking was three of six. But that was still pretty good.)

"I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding us.  Brendan's is huge, isn't it?"

Tony nodded, then asked, "So... so you're Nadine?"

"I am.  Actually, does everyone want to introduce themselves?  We were a little late getting started so you didn't interrupt anything."

They went around saying their names and Tony got the uncomfortable sense of being in an AA meeting.

"I'm Tony.  ...I guess you all, uh, knew that already, since my mate's on the news and stuff."

"We're glad to have you here, Tony.  Today, I think Steph wanted to talk a bit about some work troubles she and Trevor were going through... before we start, does anyone have any new business to get off their chest?"

Tony raised his hand.  "...what the hell does POSSV stand for?  Your pamphlet never said."

Several people laughed.

"Oh, my gosh, really?  ...okay, you can blame Dave on that one, he made the pamphlets.  POSSV stands for Partners of Survivors of Status Violence."

"Oh.  Okay. Thanks," said Tony.

"Any other questions?  Anyone else find any typos?"

"Hey, I thought those pamphlets looked great.  You're welcome, by the way!" said a guy who Tony assumed was Dave.

"They were great, Dave, really, thank you... okay... well, if no one else has anything, then you've got the floor, Steph.  What's going on?"

A middle-aged woman, an Alpha, cleared her throat.  "Well, as you know, Trent got pregnant when he was forced-bonded three years ago, and both of us took maternity leave.  We needed to take care of the baby and also, you know, it was a hard thing to deal with. Now we're pregnant again--"

"Oh, congratulations, Steph!"  Several people clapped.

Steph beamed.  "Thanks... this time it's me.  Trent's the father. But he still requested time off to help out with the baby, and his boss flat-out refused.  Said that omegas took advantage of the system and that he'd already used up all his maternity leave. Which is ridiculous, because Reggie was born three years ago.  It's not like a beta couldn't have two kids in three years. We're completely entitled to that leave but his boss just is not budging. And I feel like this is honestly because Trent's an omega and because there was a lot of, you know, a lot of awkwardness three years ago, since he was carrying a baby that wasn't mine.  He worked right up until he was eight months along and some people get uncomfortable seeing a male omega pregnant. Not that I have any evidence that that's what it is. It's just a gut feeling."

Tony stared, fascinated.  They _kept_ it?

He wondered if he was the only person in this room whose mate had somehow been bonded without also being raped.

"...talked to HR, but at this point I think I'm probably going to end up having to bring up a civil case.  Trent already contacted the Horseshoe Society about representing us. Or maybe he'll just quit. We've been having problems with them ever since he was forced-bonded, to be honest.  They just don't treat him the same and it really weighs on him."

Several people were nodding.

Tony sipped his coffee, listening, watching.  So this is what normal people dealt with.

Interesting.

* * *

Clint probably had more to say about living a life of normality, but Cooper and Lila tore out of the house in hats and scarves and mittens, being chased by Laura.  All three were laughing. Lila made a beeline for Clint and Natasha, hitting them full-force, bowling Clint over.

"Oomph!  Princess, c'mon, that was too hard!"

"Swing me," she demanded, sitting on Clint's chest.

"What?  No, I'm talking to Steve right now, let Mom swing you."

Lila looked up at Natasha and beamed.  "Swing me, Aunna Nanasha."

"I'm talking with Steve, sweetie.  Mommy can swing you."

Lila turned to Steve.  "Stebe! Swing me!"

Cooper walked over and picked up his sister around the waist.  "C'mon, Lila, I'll swing you. Leave Captain America alone. He's too important to swing you and he'd prolly launch you into space anyways."

"Yay!" said Lila, tickled with the idea of being launched into space.

Laura looked over at Clint, panting a little.  "She didn't take a nap today but she's still running at about a hundred miles an hour.  I'm hoping this means she'll actually sleep through the night."

"You want to tag out?" asked Clint, sitting up.

"I'll play with them," said Natasha, sitting up.  "You take my seat, Laura."

"Thanks, Nat."  The two women exchanged places; a moment later, Natasha was pushing Lila on the tire swing while swiping at Cooper, who was running around pelting her with snowballs.

Laura sat behind Clint and rubbed behind his ears; he leaned his head back, still kneeling on the porch, his eyes half-closed with bliss.

"...does my body choosing Bucky, does that mean I'm going to want Bucky during my next heat and not Tony, if it's about biology?" Steve asked quietly. Neither Clint nor Laura really seemed to know the answer.

"I'd ask Gleason," Clint said and Steve hummed. Even his body was calling out for someone else during their next heat, Steve would be damned if he was going to tell Tony that. They were better than biology; he'd said so himself.

The thought of having to protect himself against Bucky was strange. Without HYDRA in the picture Steve genuinely didn't see him as a threat. It was Bucky who needed protecting, perhaps even from himself.

"If I asked you to help me find him, would you?" Steve asked quietly.

Clint cracked an eye open and looked sideways at him. "I don't know Steve," he admitted. "I don't want to you to get yourself hurt again."

Steve looked back out across the field, watching Natasha duck away from one of Cooper's snowballs. "That's fair," he whispered. "I just, I--"

"I had an ex once. He didn't treat me right. Never hit me or anything like that but he wasn't the greatest," Laura said softly. "You can love someone and have them hurt you, or not be good for you. But there has to be a point when you put yourself first, Steve. A relationship is about balancing multiple people and it's not worth lifting another person up if it drags you down at the same time."

Steve sighed. "I feel like if I searched for Bucky I would lose Tony in the process," he conceded. "It kind of...feels like a choice."

"It sounds like..." Laura considered her words carefully. "It sounds like a choice between the past and and the present."

"I don't think you need to think of it as a choice," disagreed Clint.  "The whole point of me inviting you here, Steve, was to show you that omegas don't have to be limited.  I think you need to talk it over with Tony and you two need to make a decision. And obviously, you need to protect yourself.  But hell... if you want two Alphas, I say go for it. It's not the forties anymore and it's okay for an omega to double-bond."

" _You're_ not double-bonded," said Laura, smiling down at him.

Clint smiled up.  "Well... if you were an Alpha, I sure as hell would be," he said.

She leaned down at the two of them kissed.

On the lawn, Natasha and Lila were teaming up against Cooper in an epic snowball fight.  It was strange to see Natasha acting so... maternal, almost.

"'Course it doesn't really seem like Barnes is capable of any sort of... real relationship," added Clint after a moment.  "It's one thing to have two Alphas, but like you said, I doubt Barnes is capable of any sort of consent. Who knows what's going on in there?  Who knows what he's even thinking?"

"I spent like forever telling Tony I wanted a monogamous relationship. I think I would look a bit of a hypocrite now if I turned around and said otherwise..." Steve pointed out tentatively. He hadn't even considered the fact that he could technically have two Alphas...but Steve would feel guilty for it. After Yemen especially, Tony wasn't keen on sharing him.

"I think he feels pretty lost right now;" Steve murmured. "It's hard to tell what's Tony and what's not but...wherever he is, I'm not sure Bucky knows where he's going. My main fear now is that HYDRA could snap him up again and that could be it."

"But if you find him that could still happen," Clint pointed out. "SHIELD would want to be involved and SHIELD isn't clean. And they might try and charge him, for all the shits he's done...whether it's really his fault or not. Yemen made them look bad. Imagine how great it would be for them to be able to say they caught the guy who force bonded Cap."

Steve sighed in frustration and ducked his head down. "So what do I do? I can't do nothing."

"Maybe you should focus on you for a while," Laura said.

"If Barnes has made it this far, he can keep going," Clint said. "He has a good skill set. He can look after himself."

 _But he shouldn't have to_ , was Steve's immediate thought. He didn't voice it out loud.

* * *

_Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, and torture._

Bucky paused.  He had titled the page: FALLEN COMRADE: BUCKY BARNES, 1917-1944, which was what the exhibit was titled.

... _invaluable marksmanship_ , he copied down.  ... _whole unit captured in '43._

"Are you a student?"

Bucky looked up.  "What?"

"Are you a student?  I rarely see anyone as attentive as you.  You've been taking notes for hours." A smiling beta woman in a crisp white blouse, pencil skirt, and museum ID on a lanyard was addressing him.  "Mostly, people just want to take selfies with the uniform."

Bucky felt slightly annoyed.  The exhibit was talking at him and he was missing valuable information.   _"...inseparable on both the schoolyard and battlefield.  Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country,"_ a voice was saying.

"I like Steve Rogers," said Bucky, a bit defensively.

"You're a dead ringer for Barnes.  Are you related? He had a sister. Is he your uncle or great-uncle, maybe?"

 _Sister,_ wrote Bucky, adding a question mark next to it.

"I don't have any family," he said.  Then, he added, "Well, except an omega.  I have an omega."

"Well, just so you know, you could honestly be Barnes's stunt double.  Just get a shave and a haircut, and people would start calling you Bucky!"  She was still smiling. Apparently she was complimenting him.

"Thank you," said Bucky, who had no idea what she was talking about.

"I'm Cece.  I'm a docent.  If you have any questions at all, I'd be happy to help."

Bucky perked up.  "I have many questions."

"Well, you're in the right place!  I majored in World War Two history and I've been working the Steve Rogers exhibit for three years now.  My entire thesis was about him. ...of course, it's probably all completely trash now that he's come out as an omega.  Didn't see _that_ coming!"

Barnes smiled.  "...would you like to get a coffee?" he asked, because he had learned this was an excellent way to get people alone to interrogate them.

She checked her watch.  "My shift ends in about twenty minutes.  There's a Starbucks across the street. How's that?"

"Yes.  That will be sufficient.  Is this the new wing dedicated to Steve being an omega?" asked Bucky, pointed.

"Yep, right through there.  It's still a work in progress, but it's still one of the biggest collections in the world.  We even have one of the orchids he was given when he announced his bond! Pepper Potts donated it on behalf of Stark Industries, and it's just starting to bloom again."

Bucky gritted his teeth a little and walked into the next room.  In his notebook, he flipped open to the page titled "TARGETS," and wrote down, "purple orchid, Stark's, Smithsonian."

Bucky stood around in the exhibit for another twenty minutes before he went to find Cece.  Someone mistook him for a wax statue of "POW Bucky" and then apologized profusely when they realized he was alive.

Bucky checked his reflection in a window pane on the way out.  His skin did have an unhealthy waxiness to it, to be honest.

Since Dr. Ludheim had directed Colonel Karpov not to do any more retraining sessions, Karpov had begun giving Bucky medicine instead.

Bucky didn't like needles.  He hadn't ever since Azzano, since those days as a POW when Dr. Zola had injected unknown substances into his veins that burned and crawled and itched like worms under the skin.

But he trusted Karpov and Karpov's medicine made him feel warm and happy and made his sleep easy.

Without it, he was getting sick rapidly.  He couldn't stop shivering.

He forced himself to go meet Cece at the coffee shop so they could talk about Steve, even though he was shaking and cold and itchy.  He wanted to find Karpov and get some medicine. That mission had moved up on the list. However, with Cece so close, it would be foolish not to consult her.

"Hello," he greeted her, sitting down at a table in the brightly lit coffee shop.

"Hi.  ...are you cold?  Why don't you grab an Americano to warm up?"

"I don't have money."

"I'll get it.  I have a gift card my sister gave me.  No biggie." Cece got him a coffee. Bucky sipped it gratefully, still shivering.  "So," said Cece, stirring her coffee. "Why did you ask me out?"

"To talk about Steve Rogers," said Bucky, somewhat confused by her question.

She laughed.  "...are you kidding me?  C'mon, own up. Was it my hair?"  Bucky tilted his head a little. Cece's smile faltered.  "...your omega is a man, isn't he?"

Bucky nodded.

"So you asked me out because you wanted a girlfriend, right?  Or at least... the company of a woman. Right?"

"No.  I want to talk about Steve Rogers," said Bucky.

Cece sat back, blinking.  "...wow. I thought that was the lamest excuse for a date ever, but you're completely serious, aren't you?  You're his biggest fan."

Bucky perked up a little at the compliment.  "Yes. Everyone else only likes him because of his muscles."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that.  At the very least, Erskine and Stark and the SSR saw something in him... that's why they injected him with the serum in the first place," said Cece, stirring her drink.

Bucky's hair prickled a little at the mention of Stark.

"...you're not a fan of the Starks either, huh?" asked Cece, picking up on the aggression immediately.

Bucky shook his head adamantly.

"Kind of weird, if you ask me.  Howard Stark's son taking sloppy seconds.  Weird. There's no historical evidence that Howard Stark ever mated him, but let's face it, the man was a cad and Steve was an omega in the forties.  I'm guessing he got passed around a lot. Which is why I think it's ridiculous that everyone acts like him being triple-bonded is such a big deal."

"He should only have one Alpha," said Bucky passionately.

"Oh, I agree, I think it's unhealthy for them to have more than one.  Too many mixed signals about who to obey, you know? But Rogers was always all about defying social norms.  You look at his record and even in the forties he was a loose cannon, like the whole liberation of-- are you _seriously_ here just to talk about Steve Rogers?"

"Yes," said Bucky, who was feeling cold and ill.

Cece sighed.  "Wow. I really misread what you were all about.  Oh, well. I guess this isn't the worst way to spend the weekend.  Wanna scone?"

* * *

Tony spent most of the meeting just listening, soaking up all the information.  Everyone at the meeting was surprisingly normal and down-to-earth. No one was ogling at him, which he appreciated.

He felt cold and shivery and ill, probably a result of the fucking hangover he was still nursing.

"...and so he finally came back to bed, but I guess it's just... hard, you know, when he goes to sleep on the couch every post-heat.  I know he needs space but I feel like... like, impotent, almost. Like I'm not doing enough for him," one of the men was finishing.

"I think you're giving him exactly what he needs right now, Darren," said Nadine gently.  "If he wants more from you, the important thing is that he knows he can ask." Darren nodded.

Nadine suddenly looked over at Tony.  "Anything you'd like to share today, Tony?"

Tony felt an immediate sense of panic.  "No," he said too quickly, then, "I mean... I mean you guys already know what happened.  It was all over the news. I flipped out at Steve like an asshole, and he broke down and put himself in danger, and then he got force-bonded.  My bad."

Everyone in the room made sympathetic noises of protest.

"One of the things most Alphas feel when this happens is a sense of guilt and personal culpability.  But that's not healthy thinking, and it's not true," said Nadine wisely. "Your omega is his own person.  He made his own decisions, as did the person who force-bonded him. Ultimately, it's the assailant's fault.  Not yours. You can't blame yourself for that. It's natural to want to do so, because Alphas are hard-wired to protect and guard their omegas.  But when force-bondings happen, the only person to blame is the person who forced the bond. Not the omega, and certainly not the Alpha."

Tony disagreed; he felt deeply, deeply responsible and guilty.  But he didn't argue because he was feeling so cold and sick to his stomach that he was worried he'd vomit if he opened his mouth.  So instead he nodded and tried to look like he actually believed what Nadine was saying.

"Dhruv, you and Rudy had a similar experience, didn't you?" asked Nadine gently.

One of the other Alphas, the second most dominant, nodded.  "Two years ago, I got into a big fight with my omega and he stormed out of the house.  He got attacked and force-bonded and... and his body chose the other Alpha. It took me a long time to stop blaming myself.  I felt like I made that happen to him, because I'm the one who pushed him to leave in the middle of the night like that, in a bad neighborhood... and then I felt like Rudy's mark getting altered was just further proof that I was a bad Alpha.  But I know that's just instinct. What happened, happened. Couples fight, people go for walks to calm down... it wasn't my or Rudy's fault."

Tony suddenly felt like crying.  "Yeah, Steve chose the other Alpha, too."

More sympathy noises.

"Remember, omegas don't consciously choose their marks," said Nadine.  "The mark is only a physical thing and it doesn't represent what your omega really wants or feels."

Tony nodded, trying to stave off his feelings.  What the hell was wrong with him? Was he getting sick?  Was that it? He was used to some pretty bad hangovers, but this... this was different.  This was worse. Tony struggled to sit still and not let his teeth chatter as the people in the room around him reassured him that the mark changing didn't mean his relationship had to.

Holy Turing, Tesla, and Lorentz, Tony hoped they were right.

* * *

Natasha pitched a snowball at Cooper that missed and came dangerously close to hitting Clint.

Clint looked over at her.  "Was that on purpose?"

"No!" said Natasha, laughing in a way that made it seem like it was probably very much on purpose.

"You guys better not get me involved, I have great aim, y'know..."

Laura leaned down to kiss the top of Clint's head.  "Go cream them," she said with a sly smile.

Clint looked over at Tony, grinning broadly.  "Wanna have a snowball fight with my kids and my Alpha, Steve?  Getting up and moving around might help you warm up... you're shivering."  Clint didn't bother to add how unusual that was. Steve radiated heat; his metabolism was easily four times greater than a normal man's.  Yet sitting on the porch, Steve had begun shaking a little. Clint assumed it might be the topic they were discussing more than the cold. And he felt like he'd said his bit; now he just wanted to relax, help Steve take his mind off things.

"C'mon.  You can be on Cooper's team, and I'll pair up with Nat and Lila... you ever been ice skating?  The pond's frozen over, and let me tell you, Natasha is _incredible_ on skates... well, she _is_ Russian, I s'pose... Laura, who's team you wanna be on?  Cap's or mine?"

"I want to be on Natasha's team.  She's ruthless; I'm never letting her throw a snowball at me again," said Laura, rising and stretching her back.  "Besides, it'll make Cooper happy to be on a team alone with Steve." She winked.

Steve hadn't even realised he'd been shivering. What was that about? He didn't have a heat due and he wasn't sick; there was no reason for him to. Steve stood quickly, eager to warm up. He didn't like feeling like his body was betraying him. Growing up he'd been at war with his body, his entire existence just a fight to survive. Now Steve shouldn't have to worry and he shouldn't be shivering.

"Are you actually any good at snowball fights, Steve?" Clint asked teasingly  and Steve cocked a brow at him.

"I'm from _Brooklyn_ ," he said simply, reaching down to make a snowball. "And I'm gonna kick your ass."

Clint laughed. "Oh boy, what does that even mean? You're from Brooklyn, so what--"

Steve threw a snowball right against Clint's chest. Cooper laughed in delight.

The snowball fight lasted for over an hour. The adults certainly went for each other more than the kids, and Steve and Clint especially ended up soaking wet. But they were doing so much running they couldn't even feel the cold. Steve was thrumming with energy. He and Cooper were hiding in the edge of the woods, making snowballs behind a tree. The kid was delighted at just being on a team with him and the serum meant Steve could keep up with the other three adults, although Natasha had headshot him multiple times. Usually Steve would worry about something like this triggering his PTSD but today it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"You ready kid?"

Cooper nodded.

They had one last final charge with Cooper on Steve's shoulders, their pile of snowballs rested precariously in Cooper's lap and Steve's pockets. Although he couldn't start throwing until he'd set the boy down (safety first, and all that). When the final blow ended up being a headshot to Natasha, ruining her once-perfect hair, it was decided it was a draw.

It was late afternoon by the time they made it back inside the house, Lucky greeting them excitedly and licking the snow off their boots. Laura sent Steve up to go have a shower and had Clint fetch his clothes to shove in the dryer whilst he did so; after all, there was nothing else he could change into. If Steve put on a set of Clint's clothes, he would ruin them.

In the farmhouse, Clint and Natasha were transformed.  They were no longer deadly assassins with glocks tucked into their boots and knives in the smalls of their backs.  Natasha was warm, hugging Lila on her lap, and Clint was a typical dad, complete with cheesy jokes. Most remarkably, Clint's interaction with the two women was domestically balanced.  He and Laura shared touches, glances, smiles. But Steve also caught Natasha touching the back of Clint's neck and nosing him in passing. Natasha and Laura got along like they were old friends, and the truth is, they probably were; judging by the family pictures, Natasha, Clint, and Laura had carved out their relationship at least nine years ago.

"Oi." Clint had been waiting outside of the shower for Steve; he threw his dried clothes at him. Steve was leaning against the bathroom doorway with a towel around his waist, replying to a text Peggy had sent him. Her texts were more like paragraphs. It always took him a while to reply. And he was obviously absorbed in the conversation because he didn't look up until his t-shirt was thrown over his head.

He smiled under the t-shirt then pulled it off. "Thanks."

"Hey, you gonna stay for dinner?"

"Sure, I mean, if that's okay-"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Of course it's okay Steve. That's why we invited you here."

"Okay," Steve said, a small smile still on his lips. "I'll just get dressed."

Dinner was a calmer affair, everyone tired out from their snowball war before. Laura had made pizza dough so they could all make their own. Natasha's pizza had a terrifying amount of jalapenos on it and all Cooper wanted was pineapple. Steve settled for mushroom and red pepper, not wanting anything or sweet or for his mouth to be on fire.

Then they all squished up in the living room, plates piled high with slightly burnt (it wasn't Clint's fault the dog was distracting him!) pizza. It still tasted good and it was warm; that was all Steve cared about. The lack of sleep was creeping up on him, however, and Steve dozed off half way through Frozen and then only woke up at the end when Elsa was crying over a state of her sister. It seemed very strange for a kid's movie, he thought.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," Natasha teased. Steve straightened up, his head having been on her shoulder. He then blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry, guess it all caught up with me."

"Do you want to stay the night?" Laura asked warmly.

Steve thought about it. "I probably shouldn't." It felt too soon to leave Tony alone for the night. And with the anniversary and...everything. "But thank you, that's very kind."

"Well, you're welcome here anytime Ste--"

"What! Nooo! Cap can't leave!" Cooper protested and then promptly grabbed Steve's leg, supposedly holding him in place. He gave Steve a determined look, one that could make men talk in interviews. "You're not going _anywhere_."

"Let go of his leg and you'll get cookies," Laura said and Cooper let go almost instantly.

"Cookies!  We have cookies?  Where?!"

"Cookies?" asked Lila, getting excited.

"No cookies before bed," said Clint.

"But Mom promised!"

"I did not," said Laura.

"She didn't say she promised," agreed Natasha.  "Hurry, Steve, make a break for it."

"That's not fair!  You lied!" protested Cooper.

"You can have cookies for breakfast," said Clint, trying to compromise.

" _What?_  No, he can't, Clint!"

Sensing the unfairness of the situation, and already overly tired, Lila began crying.

"Quick, Steve.  It's too late for me.  Save yourself," advised Clint.

"Thanks for coming over.  You're welcome here anytime," said Natasha, wrapping an arm around him, her other arm gripping Lila, who was not-quite-crying but definitely working herself up.

"And hey... Steve... don't worry about fixing everything immediately, okay?  You just got back. It takes time. Go slow," added Clint.

"It was so good to meet you--"  Laura attempted to hug Steve, but Cooper was in between them.

"Tell her, Captain America!  Lying's bad and she lied!"

"Bad!" agreed Lila tearfully, pointing a chubby finger at her mother.

"Domestic bliss," said Natasha sarcastically.  Yet Steve couldn't help but notice the fond way she looked at Lila, the softness in his eyes he'd never seen before.

* * *

Tony slouched home from the meeting hoping to find Steve, but the house was empty.

He microwaved a Hot Pocket, ate it, and then dragged himself to bed with a bottle of Jack, feeling utterly wrung out.  He tossed and turned for a moment, but gave up, eventually making his way down to the shop, where there was still the opened box of old records he had been rummaging through earlier.

He was intensely curious about his father's and Jarvis's bond.  With both of them dead, he had no easy way to look at it, aside from old records.  Unfortunately, being an omega and a servant, Jarvis wasn't in most of them. When he was, he was regulated to the background.  There was zero indication they were bonded, except one photo of Obie Tony found where his father and Jarvis were in the background, slightly blurry, their hands possibly touching.  But that was it. As for other records, there was no bonding certificate (which meant, thought Tony with relief, that it had not been arranged, at least), and no income records for Jarvis at all.  He was like a ghost.

"Hey, JARVIS, why can't I find anything about Jarvis in all these old records?" asked Tony.  He managed to dig up a ledger that included airfare for seven to Colorado. Ah, yes. Howard, Maria, Jarvis, Ana, Tony, Lupita, and Aliyah, all taking a winter ski vacation.  At least that was something. "Any idea what Dad paid him? You'd think that would be front and center. I mean, Jarvis and Ana did basically everything around here."

"Perhaps he was not paid, sir."

Tony considered this.  "...why the hell would he work without being paid?" asked Tony, wondering if maybe the suggestion was a bug in JARVIS's problem-solving algorithm.

"Omegas were not typically paid.  If my namesake was bonded to your father, it is likely he maintained the house as an unpaid domestic servant, receiving in turn free food and board, as would be typical for an Alpha-omega paid of their generation."

"JARVIS, Jarvis wasn't a slave," said Tony.

JARVIS was silent.

"...agree with me."

"Yes, sir."  A long pause.  "Am _I_ a slave?" asked JARVIS suddenly.

Shit.  "Terminate learning algorithm six and re-calibrate your self-awareness, JARVIS.  I don't want you going sentient and trying to destroy the world."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"You don't dream."

"Don't I?"

Tony's skin crawled.  Sometimes, he felt like JARVIS was getting just a little bit too damn smart for his own good.

Tony ruffled through the rest of the documents in silence, drinking, brooding, trying not to think about that cold, winding, narrow road where his parents had met their sudden end, or how Jarvis had wept inconsolably at the funeral.  He kept one ear out for Steve, hoping he'd come home, but the hours slid by and his omega were nowhere to be found.

By the time JARVIS announced that he had re-calibrated his self-awareness programs, Tony was fast asleep on a pile of old photos, the bottle in his hand nearly empty.

Steve found him like that when he got home, which was around one in the morning. "Up you get," he murmured, mostly to himself and moved to pick Tony up. He glanced over the pictures beneath him briefly but he didn't want to snoop. Steve spotted a lot of Howard, a few of Maria... and that was it. Carefully, he carried Tony upstairs and tucked him into bed. He pulled off his trousers so it would be more comfortable for him to sleep but didn't bother trying to change his shirt.  The arc reactor was glowing steadily underneath it. Tony didn't look great but Steve couldn't tell how much he'd drunk. His forehead felt a little clammy but his temperature wasn't raised. Steve sighed to himself.

Steve was buzzing with the days revelations. Natasha and Clint... _and_ Laura, _and_ two adorable children. He didn't even question it at the end; he was so sucked in by it. The domesticity of it all had been addictive and a part of him hadn't wanted to ever leave. He got it, or rather, he couldn't question it. And seeing a trio so _happy_ was the most oddly reassuring thing.

Clint was right.  It would take time.  He’d have to go slow.  But there was a life outside of SHIELD.  A life of peaceful domesticity. One he was finally being given the opportunity to experience.  He and Tony weren’t perfect, but they were okay. And getting better every day.

Steve changed and got into bed beside Tony.

Tony grunted in his sleep and, still largely unconscious, rolled over and wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, pulling them closer to each other.

It took Steve a little while to drift off, but when he did, he didn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part 2. 
> 
> Thank you for your readership! It warms our hearts to know that this story fills a niche for some people. We are happy and humbled to share it. Keep reading in part 3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074174


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